


SuperPotterLock- The Philosopher's Stone

by Nurmengardx



Series: SuperPotterLock [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Genderbending, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurmengardx/pseuds/Nurmengardx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John and Castiel start Hogwarts at the same time as Harry, Ron and Hermione. They become good friends but as the Philosopher's Stone is threatened, how will they work together to save it from the wrong hands?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

Harry pressed through the crowd until he found an almost empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig in first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

'Want a hand?' It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the ticket box.

'Yes please,' Harry panted.

'Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!'

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

'Thanks,' said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

'What's that?' said one of the twins suddenly pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

'Blimey,' said the other twin. 'Are you-?'

'He is,' said the first twin. 'Aren't you?' he added to Harry.

'What?' said Harry.

' _Harry Potter_ ,' chorused the twins.

'Oh, him,' said Harry. 'I mean, yes, I am.'

The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating through the train's open door.

'Fred? George? Are you there?'

'Coming, Mum.'

With one last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down by the window where he looked around the compartment and spotted a small boy in the corner by the door. His face was hidden by a large copy of  _A Beginner's Guide to Healing_  that he was apparently determined to finish, though Harry could see his tousled dark hair over the top. He was wearing a very,  _very_ over-sized, tan trench coat and the sleeves were rolled all the way up to his elbows.

'Hello, my name's Harry Potter, what's yours?'

But the boy just pulled his feet up on to the seat and hid himself deeper behind his book, so Harry strained his ears to hear what the red-haired family were saying.

'Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we met on the train?' Harry leant back quickly so they wouldn't see him looking.

'You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?'

'Who?'

' _Harry Potter!'_

Harry heard the little girl's voice.

'Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please…'

'You've already seen him, Ginny, the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?'

'Asked him. Saw his scar. It was really there- like lightning.'

'Poor  _dear_ \- no wonder he was alone. I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on to the platform.'

'Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?'

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

'I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school.'

'All right, keep your hair on.'

A whistle sounded.

'Hurry up!' their mother said, and the three boys clambered on to the train. They leant out of the window for her to kiss them goodbye and their youngest sister began to cry.

'Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls.'

'We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.'

' _George!'_

'Only joking, Mum.'

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed: then she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to- but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

'Anyone sitting there?' he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. 'Everywhere else is full.'

'Er… do you mind?' Harry asked the boy in the corner. He said nothing but gave the slightest shake of his head.

'Go ahead,' he said and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he had a black mark on his nose.

'Hey, Ron.'

The twins were back.

'Listen, we're going down the middle of the train- Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there.'

'Right,' mumbled Ron.

'Harry,' said the other twin. 'Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.'

'Bye,' said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment shut behind them.

'Are you really Harry Potter?' Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

'Oh- well, I thought it might have been one of Fred and George's jokes,' said Ron. 'And have you really got- you know…'

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron stared and even the boy in the corner peeked over his book for a second.

'So that's where You-Know-Who-'

'Yes,' said Harry, 'but I can't remember it.'

'Nothing?' said Ron eagerly.

'Well- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.'

'Wow,' said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as if he suddenly realised what he was doing, looked quickly out of the window again. They looked around as the compartment door slid open and a blonde boy dragging his trunk came in, shutting the door firmly behind him.

'Sorry, I hope you don't mind. They were throwing things at me,' he panted.

'Not at all, take a seat,' Harry said kindly. He smiled in relief and ragged his trunk to the overhead luggage rack. Grunting, he lifted it up and shoved it into place.

'My name's John Watson by the way,' he said.

'Harry Potter.'

'Ron Weasley.'

'Nice to meet you.'

He gave the trunk one last shove.

'Ouch!' a voice cried. John jumped back as his trunk flew off the rack, narrowly missing his feet. Another boy appeared, upside down, an angry scowl on his face.

'Do you mind? I'm trying to think.'

'Blimey, Sherlock, what are you doing up there?' Ron asked him. The boy called Sherlock sighed dramatically and turned onto his front, his dark curls flopping into his face.

'I'm hiding from Mycroft.'

'Why?'

'Aside from the obvious reasons, they made him Head Boy and now he's being insufferable.'

'Oh you're joking,' Ron groaned.

'Unfortunately not. I hear they made Percy a Prefect.'

'Yeah, he never shuts up about it,' Ron complained.

'How do you two know each other?' John asked.

'Old family friend,' said Ron.

'And by 'family friend' he means Mummy invites them over for dinner parties and they're too polite to decline. Now, if you could all quieten down, you're fuzzing my brain,' he said, rolling away out of sight. Harry caught Ron's eye, who shrugged.

'Are all your family wizards?' asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

'Er- yes, I think so,' said Ron. 'I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never really talk about him.'

'So you must know loads of magic already.'

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

'I heard you went to live with Muggles,' said Ron. 'What are they like?'

'Horrible- well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though.'

'What about you?' Ron asked John, who had been listening to their conversation.

'Oh, erm- I'm the first in my family to have magic. You should have seen my sister's face,' he grinned.

'Eurgh, Muggle-born,' came Sherlock's disgruntled voice.

'Yes, thank you, Salazar,' Ron retorted. 'This is what I have to put up with every Saturday,' he said to John.

'What? I've never met a Muggle-born with a single ounce of intelligence.'

'I think you're being a bit out of order mate,' said Ron, catching the look on John's face.

'All Muggles are twits anyway,' he sniffed.

'Excuse me, that's my mother you're talking about,' John snapped.

'I thought you needed to think,' Harry interrupted. Sherlock huffed but didn't say another word.

'I wish I had three wizard brothers,' Harry mused.

'Five,' said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. 'I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left- Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat.'

Ron reached deep inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

'His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made Prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean, I got Scabbers instead.'

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

'… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or my parents or Voldemort-'

Ron gasped and Sherlock twitched involuntarily and caused the luggage rack to creak in protest.

'What?' said Harry.

' _You said You-Know-Who's name!'_ said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. 'I'd have thought you of all people-'

'I'm not trying to be  _brave_ or anything, saying the name,' said Harry. 'I just never knew I shouldn't. See what I mean?'

'Who's Voldemort?' asked John curiously. Ron paled and shook his head, leaving to Harry to explain.

'Well, Hagrid told me that he was this really evil wizard, who wanted to take over. He went out and got followers, some wanted a bit of his power and some were bewitched into following him. Some people tried to stop him but he killed them. He tried to get my parents to go over to the Dark side, but they wouldn't, so he killed them when I was one.'

'Sounds like a nice bloke,' John grimaced.

'Then, he tried to kill me, but he couldn't and no one knows why, and that's how I got this,' he said, once again displaying his scar. 'He disappeared after that night, some people think he died, but others think he's still out there.'

Ron looked visibly distressed.

'I've got loads to learn,' John groaned.

'Me too… I bet,' he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, 'I bet I'm the worst in the class.'

'You won't be,' Ron said, having seemingly recovered from Harry's vivid description. 'There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.'

While they had been talking, the train carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, 'Anything off the trolley, dears?'

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears turned pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches.

'No thanks, I've got a packed lunch,' said John. Harry went out into the corridor.

He had never had any money for sweets with the Dursleys and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry- but the woman didn't have any Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and a number of strange other things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver sickles and seven bronze knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

'Hungry are you?'

'Starving,' said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

John had wrestled a neat lunch box from his trunk, with a sandwich, an apple and a packet of crisps, while Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches. He pulled one apart and said, 'She always forgets I don't like corned beef.'

John looked at him sympathetically, already half way through his sandwich that had turned out to be cheese.

'Swap you for one of these,' said Harry, holding up a pasty. 'Go on-'

'You don't want this, it's all dry,' said Ron. 'She hasn't got much time,' he added quickly, 'you know, with five of us.'

'Go on, have a pasty. You too, John,' said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. 'You can help yourself to anything you want,' he said to the boy in the corner. He didn't move except to take a bite of a banana that had somehow appeared in his hand. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron and John, eating their way through Harry's pasties and cakes (the sandwiches lay forgotten). John looked up at the luggage rack that Sherlock was on who, he was fairly certain, had fallen asleep. He picked up a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, took aim and threw it up on to the rack, where it hit Sherlock square in the face.

'What was that for?' he demanded.

'That was for what you said about my mum,' he replied. 'It's time for food, come down here and get something to eat.'

'I will do no such thing,' he huffed grumpily.

'Hey, Sherlock, do that thing you do,' Ron said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but clearly couldn't resist the chance to show off.

'Fine.'

He looked at John, eyes flickering all over him. 'You've got new clothes and almost everything in your trunk is new, so either you've been saving up for this, or your family is generally well-off, however, I would say the latter because you're Muggle-born. You've got quite a good relationship with your mother because you're quick to defend her and she left you a note in your lunch box saying "Hope you have a great year, love Mum" with two kisses. You didn't scrunch up the note; you put it carefully back in your lunch box, showing that it's a mutual feeling. Your relationship with your father and sister isn't as good. When I said "all Muggles are twits" you only defended your mother, as if you were agreeing with me, about your father and sister at least. Your sister fell out with you recently because you still have a picture of the both of you in your trunk. She fell out with you out of jealousy, perhaps because you're a wizard or maybe because she doesn't share the same close relationship you do with your mother. By the way, I didn't mean what I said about Muggles or Muggle-borns; I just wanted to see how you would react.'

Harry and Ron gaped at him.

'You didn't say what happened to my father.'

Sherlock's mouth twitched.

'No, but you just did. He died of alcohol poisoning, correct?'

'How do you know?'

'I don't know, I notice,' he corrected. 'Your hairstyle and clothing clearly say military family, however, he wasn't killed in action because you narrow your eyes slightly whenever he's mentioned, you disapprove of him. So he came back from war and, as many soldiers do, intoxicated himself to the point of death.'

'That was… amazing,' John said in awe.

'You think so?' Sherlock asked, surprised.

'Of course it was. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.'

'That's not what people normally say.'

'What do people normally say?'

'"Piss off".'

They giggled until Harry held up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. 'They're not  _really_ frogs are they?' He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

'No,' said Ron. 'But see what the card is, I'm missing Agrippa.'

'You collect those things?' Sherlock frowned.

'Don't look like that, just because you  _still_ can't find Merlin.'

'What?' Harry said, both him and John looked mystified.

'Oh, of course, you wouldn't know- Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect- Famous Witches and Wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy.'

Harry and John unwrapped their Chocolate Frogs and picked up the cards.

'Cool, I got Merlin,' John grinned, earning a disbelieving grunt from Sherlock.

Harry's showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name  _Albus Dumbledore._

'So  _this_ is Dumbledore!' said Harry. John leaned over to have a look.

'Don't tell me you've never heard of Dumbledore!' said Ron. 'Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa- thanks-'

Harry turned over his and read:

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts._

_Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

'He's gone!'

Sherlock tutted above his head.

'Well you can't expect him to hang around all day,' said Ron. 'He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting.'

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

'Help yourself,' said Harry. 'But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.'

'Do they? What, they don't move at all?' Ron sounded amazed and John nodded. ' _Weird!'_

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry and John couldn't keep their eyes off them. Soon they both had Dumbledore, Morgana and Merlin. Harry also found Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe and Paracelsus, while John got Mordred, Hesper Starky, Cassandra Vablatsky and Crispin Cronk. Harry finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans.

'You want to be careful with those,' Ron warned Harry. 'When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour- you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he got a bogey-flavoured one once.'

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully and bit into a corner.

'Bleaaargh- see? Sprouts.'

They had a good time eating the Every-Flavour Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper. They both fell about laughing at John's expression as he ate a particularly strong lemon and Sherlock joined in long enough to stop John from eating a boiled cabbage one.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

'Sorry,' he said. 'But have you seen a toad at all?'

When they shook their heads, he wailed. 'I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!'

'He'll turn up,' said Harry.

'Yes,' said the boy miserably. 'Well… if you see him…'

He left.

'Don't know why he's so bothered,' said Ron. 'If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk.'

John sniggered and the rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

'He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference,' said Ron in disgust. 'I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…'

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

'Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway-'

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

'Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one,' she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

'We've already told him we haven't seen it,' said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening. She was looking at the wand in his hand.

'Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then.'

She sat down and Ron looked taken aback.

'Er- all right.'

He cleared his throat.

'Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.'

He waved his wand but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

'Are you sure that's a real spell?' said the girl. 'Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard- I've learned all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it's enough- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?'

'I'm Ron Weasley,' Ron muttered.

'Sherlock Holmes,' Sherlock waved from the luggage rack.

'John Watson,' John smiled.

'Harry Potter,' said Harry.

'Are you really?' said Hermione. 'Who's he?' she asked, gesturing at the boy in the corner. Ron shrugged.

'We don't know. I think he just wants to be left alone,' Harry said.

'I see. I know all about you, of course- I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in  _Modern Magical History_  and  _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_  and  _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._

'Am I?' said Harry, feeling dazed.

'Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me.' said Hermione _._ 'Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.'

'Try the luggage in the compartment before the Prefects',' Sherlock called.

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

'Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it,' said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. 'Stupid spell- George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.'

'What house are your brothers in?' asked Harry.

'Gryffindor,' said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. 'Mum and Dad were in it too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw  _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.'

'That's the house Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who was in?'

'Yeah,' said Ron. 'What about you, Sherlock?'

'Ravenclaw, obviously,' he murmured.

Ron flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

'You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter,' said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. 'So what do your oldest brothers do now they've left, anyway?'

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

'Charlie's in Romania, studying dragons and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts,' said Ron. 'Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the  _Daily Prophet,_ but don't suppose you get that with the Muggles- someone tried to rob a high-security vault.'

Harry stared, John gasped and Sherlock shifted sharply.

'Really? What happened to them?'

'Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a really powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it.'

Harry turned the news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying 'Voldemort' without worrying.

'What's your Quidditch team?' Ron asked.

'Er- I don't know any,' Harry confessed.

'What's Quidditch?' asked John.

'What!' Ron looked dumbfounded. 'Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world-' And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money, while John listened avidly, eyes wide. He was just taking them through the finer points in the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered and Harry recognised the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

'Is it true?' he said. 'They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?'

'Yes,' said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing either side of the pale boy they looked like bodyguards.

'Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,' said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where he was looking. 'And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

'Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.'

He narrowed his eyes and looked around the compartment. He spotted John and a nasty grin spread across his face. 'Ah, Watson, I wondered where you'd got to. Didn't you like our gifts?' he sneered.

He put a hand in his pocket to pull out something that looked suspiciously like a Gobstone. He drew back his arm but before he had a chance to throw it, he found a wand millimetres away from his nose. The boy that had barely moved the whole train ride had put his book down and was now standing in front of Malfoy, stopping him from throwing anything. His trench coat was absurdly big for him, dragging along the ground behind him, and his head barely reached Malfoy's chin, yet somehow he still managed to look imposing.

'What are you going to do?' he scoffed. 'You don't know anything yet.'

'I know enough,' he said quietly in a steady, American accent. 'Put it away.'

Malfoy scowled but slowly lowered the Gobstone and put it back in his pocket. The boy sat back down but, instead of picking up his book again, kept his blue eyes fixed on Malfoy, who turned back to Harry.

'You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,' he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

'I'd be careful if I were you, Potter,' he said slowly. 'Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys, Watson and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you.'

John, Harry and Ron stood up. Ron's face was as red as his hair.

'Say that again,' he said.

'Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?' Malfoy sneered.

'Unless you get out now,' said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were bigger were a lot bigger than any of them in the compartment.

'But we don't feel like leaving, do we boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.'

All three of them forced their way into the compartment and as Goyle reached towards the Chocolate Frogs, three things happened simultaneously before Ron had so much as moved. The boy in the trench coat stuck out his foot and Malfoy fell flat on his face, Sherlock rolled off the luggage rack and on to Crabbe's back and Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle- Sherlock pulled on Crabbe's ears and Malfoy scuttled away from Goyle along the floor as he swung Scabbers round and round, howling. Scabbers finally flew off, Sherlock released Crabbe's ears and they all scrambled out at once. They listened to them go and heard a female, American voice growl: 'Out of my way, Malfoy.'

The trench coat boy immediately grabbed his book and hid behind it, huddling himself into the corner as far as he could.

An older girl with long light-brown hair appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a shiny green Prefect badge and a sickly smile, holding a brown paper bag.

'Have any of you seen my little brother? Over-sized trench coat, kinda small-'

She spotted him in the corner and her smile grew wider. 'You forgot your robes, sweetie- oops!' She spilled his clothes everywhere, including his underwear, although Harry was sure she'd done it on purpose.

'I'm so sorry! Let's pick these up shall we?'

She knelt down and picked up every piece of clothing, making a show of waving it around before finally putting it back in the bag, creating a very uncomfortable atmosphere. The boy shrunk until he was tucked into a small ball and Harry swore he heard a small sob from behind the thick covers of the book.

'Here you go.'

She went to shove the bag in his face until another American voice sounded from behind her.

'Come one, Lucy, leave the kid alone,' he said exasperatedly.

'Hey bro!' she said, wrapping her arms around him.

'You've had your fun, don't you have some Prefect duties to be doing?' he said good-naturedly.

'You're such a buzz-kill,' she groaned, rolling her eyes. 'Bye guys,' she put down the bag and flounced out of the compartment. The older boy ran a hand through his light-brown hair and straightened his black and yellow scarf.

'You ok kid?' he asked the trench coat boy, who nodded. He looked around at the rest of them. 'My name's Gabriel, I'm in the fourth year and that was our sister, Lucy. She's a live wire so I suggest you try not to get on the wrong side of her. I trust you've been looking after my little brother?'

They all nodded and he smiled. His face was kindly, unlike Lucy's whose grey eyes hid something twisted. 'His name's Castiel, by the way, he doesn't like introducing himself. Don't forget to change into your robes, kiddo,' he said, ruffling Castiel's hair playfully.

As he left, Hermione Granger reappeared.

'What  _has_ been going on?' she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor, Ron picking up Scabbers by the tail and Sherlock still pink in the face from holding on to Crabbe.

'I think he's been knocked out,' Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. 'No- I don't believe it- he's gone back to sleep.'

John looked at Sherlock and they both burst into gales of laughter.

'Did you see his face?'

'His ears were surprisingly stretchy.'

'You were brilliant!'

They laughed until tears formed in their eyes and they could barely breathe.

'Thanks for your help,' Harry said to Castiel,

'You're welcome,' he replied from behind his book. Hermione couldn't resist poking her nose over the top of his book to see what he was reading.

'So you've met Malfoy before?' Ron asked.

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

'I've heard of their family.' said Ron. Sherlock crossed his arms. 'They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark side.' He turned to Hermione, who was still trying to read Castiel's book upside down. 'Can we help you with something?'

'You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!'

'All right, keep your hair on! They started it!' said Ron, scowling at her. 'Would you mind leaving while we change?'

'All right. I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,' said Hermione in a sniffy voice. 'And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?'

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see the mountains and forests under a deep-purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

They all took off their jackets, Castiel somewhat reluctantly, and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them. A voice echoed through the train: 'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.'

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale beneath his freckles. Castiel looked extremely uncomfortable without his trench coat and John seemed to be having trouble steadying himself. Sherlock, however, looked distinctly bored, albeit with a slight glint of worry in his eye. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: 'Firs'- years! Firs'- years over here! All right there, Harry?'

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

'C'mon, follow me- any more firs'- years? Mind yer step now! Firs'- years follow me!'

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. Once or twice, Sherlock's gangly legs refused to keep him balanced and he slipped, to be held up by John each time. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed a few times.

'You'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,' Hagrid called over his shoulder, 'jus' round this bend here.'

There was a loud 'Oooooh!'

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

'No more'n four to a boat!' Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione, while Sherlock, John and Castiel got into another with a small red-haired girl.

'Everyone in?' shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, 'Right then- FORWARD!'

And the fleet of little boats moved off at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

'Heads down!' yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff, they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

'Oy, you there! Is this your toad?' said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

'Trevor!' cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

'They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded round the huge, oak front door.

'Everyone here? You there, still got your toad?'

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	2. The Sorting Hat

The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. A tall black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

'The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall,' said Hagrid.

'Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.'

'She pulled the door wide, revealing the enormous Entrance Hall. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches and there was a magnificent marble staircase facing them, twisting away and up towards a ceiling that Harry couldn't see.

Professor McGonagall led them across the flagged stone floor and Harry heard the drone of hundreds of voices coming from behind a large door to their right. The rest of the school must already be here, waiting for them, however Professor McGonagall showed them into a small chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer to each other than they usually would have, and Castiel rubbed his arm nervously.

'Welcome to Hogwarts,' said Professor McGonagall. 'The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your houses will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

'The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose you house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

'The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the whole school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you're waiting.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and Sherlock's messy curls that obscured most of his face. Harry nervously tried to flatten his own hair.

'I shall return when we are ready for you,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Please wait quietly.'

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

'How exactly do they sort us into our houses?' he asked Ron.

'Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.'

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? He looked around to see everyone else looked just as terrified as he felt. Well, almost everyone. Sherlock didn't look terrified, at least not as far as Harry could tell through his hair; he looked like he was calculating something.

Sherlock was, in fact, examining the students around him. It was much more fun to think about their tiny habits than the Sorting Ceremony. It was such a tedious thing, but at least he had a chance to figure out if there was anyone worth talking to (there probably wasn't but there was always a chance).

Firstly, Harry Potter. Sherlock was very intrigued by his story and was fairly certain he would be able to figure out what had happened if he could review all the facts, although that was now impossible and Sherlock had no illusions concerning his readiness to interrogate Lord Voldemort. Secondly, Hermione Granger. She seemed intelligent enough but liked to show it an awful lot, not that Sherlock didn't like to show off, but there was something about her bossiness or her voice that had Sherlock's mouth twisting. Perhaps if he had more data he could make a better judgement. Then there was John Watson. Looking at all the facts he knew so far, he should be dull and utterly boring, but there was something in him that sparked an interest. Finally there was Castiel, whose surname was unknown to him. He seemed to be very secretive and Sherlock was determined to unravel the mystery that surrounded his demeanour. He looked him over and saw him holding his left elbow. It seemed to him that he'd broken it at some point and it had healed wrong, which had probably caused him a great deal of pain, but was now more of a nervous twitch or habit than actual, physical pain. Why was it he hated introducing himself? Why does he wear that trench coat and why was he so different from his older sister, who seemed twisted in many different ways? So many fascinating questions and Sherlock was sure he'd have plenty of time to answer them because, going by the look of him, he would be in Ravenclaw. Sherlock broke out of his reverie when he heard people uttering surprised gasps and looked to see about twenty, pearly-white and slightly transparent ghosts glide across the room, hardly glancing at the first-years.

'Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-' a fat little monk was saying.

'My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?' A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

'New students!' said the Friar, smiling around at them. 'About to be sorted, I suppose?'

A few people nodded mutely.

'Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!' said the Friar. 'My old house, you know.'

'Move along now,' said a sharp voice. 'The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.' Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

'Now, form a line,' Professor McGonagall told the first-years, 'and follow me.'

John's chest constricted and he found himself unable to breath past a shallow gasp. He got shakily in line behind Sherlock and was aware of Castiel hesitating, then joining the back of the line. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through the pair of great double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. It was so grand and wonderful that even Sherlock's eyes widened with awe. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there amongst the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, 'it's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.' And Sherlock hiss, 'That's great; now tell us something we don't know.'

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open onto the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched, frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to pull a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing- noticing that everyone else was staring at the hat, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth- and the hat began to sing:

' _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge by what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again.

'So we've just got to try on a hat!' Ron whispered to Harry. 'I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll.'

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on a hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking an awful lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

'When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted,' she said. 'Abbott, Hannah!'

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause-

'HUFFLEPUFF!' shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

'Bones, Susan!'

The girl that had shared a boat with Sherlock, John and Castiel tried on the hat.

'HUFFLEPUFF!' shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

'Boot, Terry!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

'Brocklehurst, Mandy' went to Ravenclaw too, but 'Brown, Lavender' became the first Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

'Bulstrode, Millicent' then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked an unpleasant lot.

'Edlund, Castiel!'

Castiel walked up, visibly shaking, and put on the hat. Harry saw him glance at Gabriel at the Hufflepuff table, who smiled encouragingly, and purposely avoid Lucy's wicked grin from the Slytherin table. It took a moment, and it almost looked as if the Sorting Hat was trying to coax him into giving up his thoughts, but finally it shouted,

'RAVENCLAW!'

He thought he saw Gabriel's smile flicker for a moment, although he might have imagined it because a second later it was as wide as ever.

Harry was definitely starting to feel sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his old school. He had always been picked last, not because he wasn't any good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

'Finch-Fletchley, Justin!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'Finnigan, Seamus', the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

'Granger, Hermione!'

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

'GRYFFINDOR!' shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked the hat off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?'

'Holmes, Sherlock!'

Sherlock strode up to the stool with a slight air of boredom and, no sooner had the hat touched his head, it shouted.

'RAVENCLAW!'

He went quickly down to the Ravenclaw table and sat himself next to Castiel.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted 'GRYFFINDOR!' Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal, Morag'.

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his smoothed back hair when it screamed 'SLYTHERIN!'

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

'Moon'… 'Nott'… 'Parkinson'… then a pair of twin girls, 'Patil' and 'Patil'… then 'Perks, Sally-Ann'… and then, at last-

'Potter, Harry!'

As Harry stepped forwards, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

' _Potter,_ did she say?'

' _The_ Harry Potter?'

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him.

John and Ron looked on anxiously; the hat seemed to be taking an awfully long time. From the Ravenclaw table Sherlock and Castiel waited expectantly.

'What house do you think he'll be in?' Castiel whispered.

'Gryffindor, almost certainly,' replied Sherlock. After several minutes of buzzing silence the hat finally shouted,

'GRYFFINDOR!'

This got the loudest cheer yet and Ron scrunched up his face in embarrassment as Percy stood up and shook Harry's hand pompously.

'Now there were only four people left to be sorted. 'Turpin, Lisa' became a Ravenclaw, then,

'Watson, John!'

He wobbled forwards and sat down, placing the hat on his blonde head.

'Oooh, interesting,' a voice whispered in his head, making him cringe. 'So much kindness and loyalty, no doubt you would fit perfectly in Hufflepuff, but there's something else. There's an impulsive streak to you, I see, and a certain disregard for the rules. Now where would be best for you? Hufflepuff would encourage your loyalty, certainly, but you already have plenty of that. Your impulsiveness could be useful, yes-

'GRYFFINDOR!'

He grinned and took off the hat, running to sit next to Harry.

Finally it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair beside John.

'Well done Ron, excellent,' said Percy as 'Zabini, Blaise' was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realised how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

'Welcome!' he said. 'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

'Thank you!'

He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

'Is he- a bit mad?' he asked Percy uncertainly.

'Mad?' said Percy airily. 'He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes Harry?'

Sherlock watched John, Harry and Ron from his table and snorted into his mashed potatoes as the ghost of Gryffindor Tower popped up through the table, causing Ron to drop the chicken leg he was holding in shock. He looked up the table and ducked down as Mycroft, his brown-haired, Head Boy brother, looked in his direction imperiously. He peered around Castiel and was relieved to see that his brother had turned back to his Yorkshire puddings. He sighed and sat up properly but frowned as he noticed Castiel's plate was completely empty.

'Are you all right?' he asked. The question took a moment to register, when it finally did, he looked right at him. His face still looked pale and up this close, Sherlock could see the dark circles under his eyes,

'Yes, I'm fine,' he said.

'But you haven't eaten anything.'

Castiel kept eye contact, staring at him curiously.

'No, I suppose I haven't.'

He grabbed a spoon and piled roast potatoes onto is plate, proceeding to eat them carefully. Sherlock frowned again but said nothing more.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks if ice-cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

'I'm half and half,' said Seamus. 'Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.'

John phased out of the conversation and looked over at Sherlock, who was picking at an apple pie and looking extremely disgruntled. A tall boy with a pointy nose was jabbering in his ear. It must be the brother he'd mentioned earlier. Next to Sherlock, Castiel was absently sucking on a strawberry. He laughed quietly as Sherlock put an ice cube down his brother's cloak and was vaguely aware of Hermione talking to Percy.

'I _do_ hope they start straight away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course it's supposed to be very difficult-'

'You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing.'

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

It happened suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrel's turban straight into Harry's eyes- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

'Ouch!' Harry clapped a hand to his head.

'What is it?' asked Percy.

'N-nothing.'

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come, although John looked at him strangely. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look- a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

'Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?' he asked Percy.

'Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.'

Harry watched Snape for a while but he didn't look at him again.

At last, the puddings too disappeared and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent again.

'Ahem- just a few more words now we are all fed and watered! I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

'First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.'

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

'I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

'Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing should contact Madam Hooch.

'And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.'

Harry and Sherlock laughed, but they were some of the few who did.

'He's not serious?' he muttered to Percy.

'Must be,' said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. 'It's odd, because he usually gives a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere- the forest's full of dangerous creatures, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects at least.'

'And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!' cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teacher's smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a large golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted snake-like into words.

'Everyone pick their favourite tune,' said Dumbledore. Sherlock looked as if he'd rather eat dirt than sing and Castiel looked extremely confused, 'and off we go!'

And the school bellowed:

' _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach me something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff._

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.'_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march while a second-year was unsuccessfully stifling giggles beside them. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they were finished, he was one of those that clapped the loudest.

'Ah, music,' he said, wiping his eyes. 'A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!'

The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the crowds, while the Ravenclaws trailed after Mycroft. They pushed their way out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. Around half way there the Ravenclaws broke off and disappeared behind a giant painting of a silver swan, which blinked as Mycroft shoved it open. He was too tired even to be surprised that the people in the portraits whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries, although John didn't seem to be as sleepy as everyone else and stared open mouthed most of the way there. They walked through a corridor full of suits of armour that rattled and giggled as they passed.

'Don't worry, it's just Peeves, although do try to watch out for him. Poltergeists can cause a few nasty accidents,' said Percy. 'The Bloody Baron's the only one that can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here we are.'

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

'Password?' she said.

' _Caput Draconis_ ,' said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through- Neville needed a leg up- and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy room full of squashy armchairs. John wondered what the Ravenclaw common room was like and made a note to ask Sherlock or Castiel when he saw them next.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase they found their beds at last: six four-poster hung with deep-red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

'Great food, isn't it?' Ron muttered through the hangings. 'Get off Scabbers! He's chewing the sheets.'

'Careful Ron. If you let him eat too much he'll get as big as a person,' John mumbled.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept telling him to transfer to Slytherin immediately, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to take it off but it tightened painfully- and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it- then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, whose laugh became high and cold- there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, shaking and sweating. He rolled over and heard John snuffle lightly before he fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.


	3. The Potions Master

The Potions Master

Whispers followed Harry everywhere as soon as he left his dormitory. Whispers about how his parents died and how he'd defeated Lord Voldemort. Whispers about where he'd been for the last ten years. Whispers that annoyed Sherlock so much that he got a detention on his second day for breaking a third-year Hufflepuff's nose.

'What did you do that for?' John had exclaimed.

'She was gossiping mindlessly, I mean, honestly, did she _really_ think that Harry could breathe fire?'

Although it didn't annoy him as much as it did Sherlock, he still kept to his dormitory as much as possible, that is after he and Ron got lost countless times.

There were so many doorways and staircases which would have been hard enough to remember without all of the trick ones. Some doors pretended to be walls, some walls pretended to be doors and they all loved to move around, and then there were the trick stairs. It was second-nature to most of the older students to skip these steps but the first-years spent a lot of their first week being pulled out from being stuck in a step up to their knees (Neville got stuck in the same step three times in one day). The ghosts weren't much of a help either, especially when they glided through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick, of course, was always willing to point you in the right direction, but Peeves took any opportunity to cause chaos, especially if you were late to class. He would knock over suits of armour, pelt pieces of chalk and balled up paper at you and sneak up to you, invisible, grab your nose and screech, 'GOT YOUR CONK!'

Worse than Peeves, if it were possible, was Argus Filch the caretaker and his dust coloured cat with lamp-like eyes, Mrs Norris. Harry and Ron managed to get on their wrong side on their very first day. Mrs Norris had caught them trying to shove their way through a door, which had unfortunately turned out to be the forbidden third floor, and Filch was there in a flash, trying to give them a detention ('I _did_ tell you it wasn't that way,' John said… 'Well we know that _now')_. His knowledge of the secret shortcuts and passageways rivalled that of even the Weasley twins. Everyone hated Filch and the feeling was mutual. Filch would have loved nothing better than to find an excuse to string you up in chains in the dungeons.

While finding them was hard enough, the actual lessons themselves were extremely complicated and exhausting. There was a lot more to magic than simply waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Every Wednesday night they had Astronomy and had to learn the names of all the stars and the movements of the planets, much to the annoyance of Sherlock, who found this knowledge completely useless and was deaf to Castiel's coaxing, earning himself several detentions in the process.

Then there was History of Magic. Easily the most boring subject, John was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one to have drifted off at some point, nor that he was the only one to have mixed up a few of the goblin rebels' names. Professor Binns, who taught History of Magic, was the only teacher in the school who was a ghost. He had been very old indeed and it was rumoured that one day he had simply fallen asleep by the fire in the staff room and had got up to teach the next day, leaving his body behind.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk, he was also head of Ravenclaw house. When he came to Harry's name on the register, he uttered a small, excited squeak and tumbled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry didn't think he had ever met someone as strict as her and was right in thinking that she wasn't someone to cross. She gave them all a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her class.

'Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic there is. If I find anyone messing about in my lesson they will leave and never come back. You have been warned.'

They were all excited to get started but were soon disappointed when they realised they would not be turning furniture into animals any time soon, but matchsticks into needles. Transfiguration, it transpired, was a lot harder than they had expected and by the end of the lesson Hermione Granger was the only one that had made any difference to her matchstick. Professor McGonagall proudly showed the rest of the class how it had gone all shiny and pointy at one end.

The class everyone had been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, however it turned out to be a bit of a joke. Professor Quirrell's classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which was said to be warding off a vampire in Romania. His turban, he said, had been given to him by an African prince for getting rid of a particularly bothersome Zombie; however when questioned on how he did it he would mumble something about the weather and scuttle off to another student who needed his help. They also noticed that a funny smell lingered around the back of his turban, the Weasley twins insisted it was also stuffed full of garlic so that he'd be protected wherever he went.

Harry and John were relieved to find that they weren't miles behind everyone else. There were plenty of other people from Muggle families who had no idea they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that not even people like Ron had a head start.

Friday morning came and Harry, Ron and John had managed to make their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

'What have we got today?' Ron asked, spooning copious amounts of porridge in to his bowl.

'Double Potions with the Slytherins,' Harry replied.

'With Professor Snape? He doesn't look too friendly, does he?' John frowned, spearing a sausage on the end of his fork.

'Yeah, he's lovely that one,' Ron said sarcastically. 'He's head of Slytherin; I heard he favours them.'

'Wish McGonagall would favour us,' Harry said glumly. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor but that didn't stop her from giving them a huge pile of homework.

Just then the post arrived, making John jump out of his skin. Hundreds of owls swooped down over the house tables, dropping letters and parcels in to students' laps. Castiel picked up his letter which exploded immediately at his touch, burning his hands and singeing his eyebrows. They heard Lucy cackle loudly across the Hall and Castiel ran from the room, quickly followed by Gabriel, who shot a cold glare at Lucy on his way past. Most of the Ravenclaws ignored this, getting shocked and indignant looks from a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Ron winced sympathetically.

'What a nice thing to send in the post,' said John. Hedwig, so far, hadn't brought Harry anything, but this morning she fluttered down and dropped a note in his plate of bacon. He eagerly ripped it open to read the untidy scrawl.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week._

_Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid._

Harry borrowed Ron's quill and hastily scribbled ' _Yes_ ' on the back of the note and sent Hedwig back out with it.

'Come on, let's go. Don't want to be late for Snape,' said Ron, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

It was a good thing Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because Potions was the worst lesson he had been in so far. If Harry had gotten the impression that Snape didn't like him, he was wrong. Snape didn't dislike him- he _hated_ him.

Potions lessons took place in the dungeons where it was colder than the rest of the castle and Snape, like Professor Flitwick, took the register at the beginning of the class. He reached Harry's name and his upper lip curled menacingly.

'Mr Potter,' he said softly. 'Our new- _celebrity.'_

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered next to Malfoy at the back of the class. Snape finished calling names and his black eyes swept coldly over the class.

'As there is little foolish wand-waving in this class, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic.'

His voice was barely a whisper but they heard every word. He had the same gift as Professor McGonagall; able to keep a class quiet with minimal effort.

'I don't expect many of you to understand the beauty of a simmering potion and shimmering fumes, nor the delicacy with which it creeps through the human veins. I can teach you to brew fame, bottle glory and put a stopper in death- that is if you aren't the bunch of dunderheads I usually have to teach.'

Harry ad Ron exchanged looks while John looked a little scared, Hermione Granger, however, was on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

'Potter!' said Snape suddenly. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

Harry looked around and saw identical looks of confusion on Ron and John's faces and Hermione Granger's hand waving in the air eagerly.

'I don't know, sir,' said Harry.

His lips curled further into a sneer.

'Fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

John watched Hermione and tried desperately to keep a straight face as she nearly slid out of her seat with her hand flapping around above her. Somehow, he didn't think Snape would see the humour in their situation.

'I don't know, sir.'

'Thought you wouldn't open a book before arriving, eh Potter?'

Harry to try really hard to not scowl at Snape. He _had_ looked through his books at the Dursleys' but how could Snape expect him to remember everything in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._

'What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

At this, Hermione stood up, stretching her hand up towards the ceiling desperately.

'I don't know,' Harry said quietly. 'But I think Hermione does, why don't you try her?'

A few people laughed, including John despite his best efforts.

'Sit down,' he snapped at Hermione. 'For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong it's known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?'

There was a sudden rush for quills and parchment and Snape's cold eyes didn't leave Harry. 'I think I'll take a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter.'

Things didn't improve in the rest of the lesson. Snape put them in pairs and had them make a simple cure for boils. He spent the rest of the lesson making them nervous, watching them measure out dried nettle leaves and crush snake fangs, picking on everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just about to criticise the consistency of John's potion when a loud hissing and clouds of acrid green smoke filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt a hole straight through the bottom of Seamus's cauldron and his potion was now leaking across the floor, burning holes in people's bags and shoes. In moments the whole class were stood on their stools, while poor Neville, who had been drenched in the potion, moaned in pain as angry red boils appeared all over his face and arms.

'Stupid boy!' Snape snarled, clearing up the potion with a wave of his wand. 'I assume you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Neville whimpered. 'Take him to the hospital wing,' Snape spat at Seamus. They left the room, Neville supported by Seamus, and Snape rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to them.

'You two, why didn't you stop him from adding the quills? I suppose you thought you'd let him mess up so you would look better; another point from Gryffindor.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Ron kicked him under the table.

'Don't push it,' he muttered. 'I heard Snape can turn nasty.'

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeons, Harry couldn't help but feel low. _Why_ did Snape hate him? He hadn't done anything wrong- had he?

Ron noticed the glum look on Harry's face.

'Cheer up. Snape's taken loads of points off Fred and George,' he said.

'Yeah but he doesn't hate them,' Harry pointed out.

'He did seem a bit unpleasant, but that's probably just because it's the first week back. I'm sure he doesn't hate you,' said John reasonably.

'Yeah. Can we come meet Hagrid with you?' Ron asked hopefully.

On their way to Hagrid's they bumped into Sherlock.

'Just had Transfiguration,' he told them. 'Waste of time if you ask me.'

'It's not that bad,' John shrugged.

'How's Castiel?' Harry asked.

'Don't know, he hasn't come out of the hospital wing yet. The burns must be bad today,' he replied. Ron looked appalled.

'Today?' he asked.

'Oh, that's right, you don't know. He gets those at least twice a day. Mostly they explode dungbombs so he just changes his robes, but sometimes they're actual explosives.'

'What?' Harry and John exclaimed. Ron's mouth dropped open, his disgust too great for words.

'Why hasn't anyone done anything?' John demanded.

'We can't. He won't tell anyone who's sending them so no can do anything,' Sherlock frowned. 'Personally I think they're from his sister, but all the proof burns up before I can get my hands on it.'

Ron grimaced.

'We'll go and visit him after we've met Hagrid,' said Ron.

'Do you want to come?' asked John kindly, causing Sherlock to make a mild look of surprise.

'Yes, yes all right.'

He turned around and followed them to Hagrid's hut.

Harry knocked on the large front door and they heard loud barking, followed by scratching behind the door.

'Back Fang- back!' Hagrid grunted.

He opened the door and smiled widely while holding back an enormous black boarhound. 'Come in, come in,' he grinned, pushing the dog out of their way. They entered the one-roomed cabin and looked around. There was a crossbow and a pair of giant galoshes by the door and any number of tools and equipment hung from the ceiling, along with pheasants, hams and chickens. A kettle was boiling in an open fire.

'Make yerselves at home,' said Hagrid, letting go of Fang who bounded straight up to Ron and slobbering all over his face. Like Hagrid, Fang clearly wasn't as fearsome as he looked.

'This is Ron, Sherlock and John,' Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water in to bucket-sized mugs and putting rock cakes on to a plate.

'Another Weasley, eh? I've spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the Forest.'

The rock cakes nearly broke their teeth but they all pretended to enjoy them, except Sherlock who wouldn't touch them, while telling Hagrid about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on each of them in turn, leaving them all their fair share of dribble on their robes, and they were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch 'that old git'.

'An as fer that cat, I'd like to introduce her to Fang sometime.'

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson, but he told him not to worry about it.

'But he seemed to really _hate_ me.'

'Rubbish!' said Hagrid. 'Why would he?'

But he seemed to have trouble meeting Harry's eyes when he said that.

'How's yer brother Charlie?' Hagrid asked Ron. 'Always liked him- great with animals.'

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron talked to Hagrid extensively about Charlie's work with dragons, Sherlock and John argued over Astronomy (again) and Harry picked up a piece of paper he spotted on the floor. It was a cutting from _The Daily Prophet._

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown._

_Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day._

' _But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Harry remembered Ron mentioning it on the train but he hadn't said the specific date.

'Hagrid!' Harry exclaimed. 'That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! Maybe the robber was there at the same time we were!'

There was no doubt about it; Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time and grunted, offering him a rock cake. The news of the break-in hadn't distracted Sherlock and John from their argument.

'How can you not care about Astronomy?'

'Because there's no point to it! I couldn't care less whether the Earth goes round the sun, or what Jupiter's largest moon is!'

'But why? It's not like it'll hurt you to know it.'

'It just takes up space where more important things could go. I could fill my brain with names of constellations, but what good would it do? The fact is, is that none of it makes the slightest bit of difference to anything where logic is concerned,' Sherlock argued.

'You don't know that. Some people think that stargazing can help you interpret the future,' John said.

'Oh, John, please! I thought you had more sense than to believe that load of old rubbish!' he scoffed.

Eventually they all left with their pockets weighed down with rock cakes and made their way up to the hospital wing. Accompanied by Sherlock it was very hard, if impossible, to get lost. It seemed as if he had gone exploring and memorised most of the castle already. It took less than fifteen minutes to get to the hospital wing. They reached the doors and Sherlock threw out an arm to stop them.

'Sherlock, wha-'

'Shh.'

He pressed his ear carefully against the door and heard murmurs.

'You must tell me who keeps sending you these letters,' he heard Madam Pomfrey saying.

'It won't make any difference,' Castiel replied.

'Is it someone in school? Please, Castiel, perhaps we can help-'

'You can't.'

John tugged on Sherlock's arm.

'Sherlock , stop! You can't listen in on people's conversations!' he hissed. Sherlock ignored him so John leaned past him and knocked on the door.

'John!'

Before he could protest further, Madam Pomfrey opened the door.

'Can we see Castiel please?' John asked politely.

'I'm sorry; he's not taking any visitors right now. I'm discharging him later, you can see him then.'

She went to close the door but Sherlock rolled his eyes and barged past her, followed by Harry and Ron while John apologised profusely to Madam Pomfrey. Castiel was sitting on a hospital bed right at the end of the ward and hid his bandaged hands and forearms hastily as he saw them coming.

'You all right?' Harry asked.

'Evidently not,' Castiel sighed.

'Sherlock said you won't tell anyone who's sending you those letters,' Ron said. Castiel looked down at his lap.

'Of course he won't,' Sherlock said. 'They've got such a level of control and fear over him that he thinks it won't make any difference. To inspire such amounts of fear, he must have known them for a long time and-'

John punched him in the arm.

'Stop it. He'll tell us if he wants to,' John said sternly. Normally, Sherlock would have continued anyway but something about John's tone stopped him in his tracks.

'There must be something we can do,' Harry said. He shook his head.

'It won't work. Clearly Madam Pomfrey has been trying to do the same all week.' Sherlock commented, still sulking over the fading pain in his arm.

'Really, now this is quite enough! You will see him at dinner! Out!'

Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the room, Castiel watching them forlornly as they left.

They sat at dinner and Harry felt the last few hours had given him more to think about than any of his lessons. For a start, there was the mystery letters. Harry looked over at Sherlock and could tell from his expression that he wasn't going to let it go any time soon, although, from the look on his face, Castiel was certainly hoping he would. Then there was the break-in at Gringotts and Snape. Had Hagrid emptied the vault just in time? What was in that grubby little package he'd taken out? Why did Snape hate him and did Hagrid know something about it?


	4. The Midnight Duel

The Midnight Duel

John watched the rivalry grow between Harry and Draco Malfoy. Sherlock found the whole thing highly amusing and Malfoy ridiculous. John had to agree with him on that but couldn’t help but feel that Malfoy’s harmless teasing might turn in to something more sinister. One morning, they all got a notice, saying that Gryffindor would have a flying lesson with the Slytherins on Thursday afternoon.

‘That’s just what I needed; to make a fool out of myself in front of Malfoy. He already knows how to fly,’ moaned Harry.

‘He’s all talk. I bet you anything that he doesn’t know the handle from the tail,’ said Ron confidently.

Quidditch, as it happened, was a source of great debate among the wizarding community. As in football, there were many different teams and nearly everyone supported one or the other. Ron had already had a heated argument with Dean Thomas, who they shared their dormitory with, about football. Ron couldn’t see the point of a sport with only one ball and where no one was allowed to fly. Dean, however, disagreed and pointedly carried on putting up a poster of the West Ham football team, that Harry later caught Ron prodding, trying to make the players move. John privately agreed with Dean, as he himself followed football and even had an Arsenal FC scarf stashed in his trunk.

They made their way down to breakfast on Thursday morning, accompanied by a terrified Neville, who had never been allowed on a broom due to his chronic clumsiness, and Hermione, who was muttering flying tips nervously under her breath. Flying was not something you could learn from books, although she had tried incredibly hard to do so. Exasperatedly, they parked themselves at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to toast and cereal, while trying to ignore the constant stream of unnerving facts and figures coming from Hermione. John glanced over at the Ravenclaw table, where Sherlock was taking a sip from his goblet and Castiel was looking around nervously. Sherlock finished his drink and stood up. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes and, much to John’s surprise, strode over and sat next to John. All the students, except the Gryffindors, fell silent and turned to stare at him cross the room. John gaped, open mouthed, at him. This didn’t seem to faze him at all and he grabbed a slice of toast, spreading a large amount of marmalade on it. Eventually everyone turned back to their breakfasts and gossiped with each other.

‘Sherlock, what are you doing?’ John said.

‘Eating toast.’

John raised his eyebrows.

‘The conversation is becoming so unbearably dull, especially with Mycroft sticking his beak in. It’s much more interesting over here, where I can hear everything,’ he explained.

Meanwhile, Castiel was getting many suspicious looks from his fellow Ravenclaws, so he abandoned his half-eaten banana and scuttled over to sit on Sherlock’s other side. Most of the Gryffindors during all of this had not batted an eyelid at being joined by two Ravenclaw first-years, and one boy, sitting near the Weasley twins, had even looked up and grinned welcomingly before going back to his pie. Hermione didn’t seem to have noticed them and was still lecturing those closest to her on wind speeds and directional changes on certain brands of broom. Fortunately she was interrupted by the morning post. The flurry of owls swopped in and Sherlock felt Castiel flinch violently beside him. Sherlock was hoping that, for Castiel’s sake, that there were no explosive letters today, as he knew how much he was looking forward to their flying lesson that morning, although he knew that the chances of that were slim. The Ravenclaws had their flying lesson with the Hufflepuffs after breakfast. Castiel watched anxiously as an owl flapped in their direction. It turned out to be a package for Neville, which it dropped in his lap. He opened the letter attached to it excitedly.

‘It’s from Gran!’ he exclaimed. He ripped open the package and pulled out a small glass ball filled with pearly white smoke. ‘Oh wow! A Remembrall! Gran knows I always forget things. You squeeze it really hard and it turns red if-‘ his face fell as the smoke bloomed crimson, ‘-you’ve forgotten something.’

While Neville tried desperately to remember what he had forgotten, Castiel watched the last of the owls disappearing from the room. When the last one had gone he perked up considerably and even had a small bowl of porridge. Sherlock threw a suspicious glare at Lucy, who pretended not to notice. What was she up to? He stared in to the distance until he felt a gentle nudge.

‘Come on, Sherlock. It’s time to go,’ Castiel smiled hopefully, causing Sherlock to stare in surprise. He’d never seen him smile before and it looked oddly unfamiliar on his usually solemn features. They all got up and walked to the Entrance Hall. Sherlock could already feel the dread bubbling up inside him. He had always hated flying. They stopped before the front door and said goodbye to the others.

‘Have fun,’ John grinned. ‘Hope you have those five sickles, Sherlock.’

‘Yeah, try not to crash into anything,’ said Ron.

‘Or anyone,’ Harry added. Castiel’s smile widened a little; Sherlock grunted distractedly. The Gryffindors headed off towards Transfiguration and Sherlock and Castiel pushed through the front door. Walking several steps behind the rest of the Ravenclaws, Sherlock observed Castiel curiously.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ he asked.

‘Of what?’

‘That something bad will happen.’

Castiel stopped and looked Sherlock dead in the face.

‘Bad things happen all the time, Sherlock, it’s best not to dwell on them.’

He walked off, leaving Sherlock slightly annoyed that he had raised more questions, so he stormed past the other Ravenclaws, regretting it as he was the first to arrive by the neat rows of broomsticks. He looked at the nearest one to him in disgust and waited for the rest of the class. The Ravenclaws rounded the corner, having been finally joined by the Hufflepuffs, and crowded by the brooms. Madam Hooch, a woman with spiky grey hair and hawk-like yellow eyes, marched up to them.

‘Everyone stand by a broom, come on!’

Sherlock stood by the one closest to him and glared at it. It was an extremely old make, judging by the thickness of the handle and the state of the tail twigs. That made it unreliable. Fantastic.

‘Put your right hand over the broom and say “UP!”’

The class shouted ‘UP!’ Castiel’s broom zoomed, a little reluctantly, in to his hand after the first try, while Sherlock’s broom remained resolutely still.

‘It can sense your fear,’ Castiel said.

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Sherlock indignantly, grabbing his broom from next to his foot, where it had rolled grudgingly.

‘Mount your brooms everyone! Now, when I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet and then touch back down by leaning forward slightly. On my count- three…two…one.’

The whistle sounded and they all kicked off. Castiel soared upwards; relishing the free feeling that being in the air gave him. Sherlock hovered a few inches above the ground before touching back down again. He had never been comfortable on a broom and he swore he could feel this one trying to throw him off. The whistle sounded again.

‘Everyone back down again,’ Madam Hooch called. Everyone landed differently. Some landed heavily with a thud, others fell off their brooms altogether and a few, like Castiel, landed lightly and gracefully.

‘Very good,’ Madam Hooch smiled. ‘A few of you could do with being a little more confident. Miss Bones, do try not to fall off your next time, same with you Miss Hooper. This time I want you to do the same thing, but once you’re at an appropriate height, you will attempt a left turn by gently steering the handle with your right hand. Once again, on my whistle. Three…two…one.’

She blew her whistle again and they took off, somewhat more confidently this time. Sherlock again hovered just off the ground, he did attempt a left turn but stopped half way through, adamant that the broom was listing far too far to the right. He gripped his broom and watched the rest of the class slowly trying left turns, and Castiel zooming in excited little circles. Madam Hooch was distracted as Padma Patil somehow got stuck in mid-air, but something else caught Sherlock’s eye. There was a window open on the fifth floor. He squinted at it. There was a wand poking out of it, and it was aiming straight at… Castiel! Madam Hooch was still preoccupied by Padma, he had to do something himself, but no spells came to mind. There was only one thing for it; he would have to pull Castiel out of the way and safely back down to the ground. He was still holding his broom in his hand and his heart quickened. _Get on with it, Sherlock, no one else will do it for you._ He pursed his lips determinedly and mounted his broom. He took a moment to take a deep breath and shot off as fast as the ancient broom would take him towards Castiel.

‘Move!’ he shouted at the broom, it wasn’t taking him nearly fast enough. He got close enough to see Castiel spot the wand pointing at him and freeze in where he was. Sherlock reached out to pull him out of the way but just as his fingers brushed his robes and incredibly strong force knocked them both from their brooms. Sherlock felt weightless as they were pushed back but then gravity caught up and they both tumbled through the air. Sherlock’s breath left his lungs and he watched helplessly as the ground came up to meet him. Castiel tried to grab at him but ended up hitting him hard in the face. He somersaulted and hit the ground, landing on his feet, sending shockwaves through his body and crippling his ankles. Falling back, he landed awkwardly on his arm and heard that crack too. Before he could register the pain from these injuries, Castiel’s arm dug into him as he landed with a thump beside him. Before he passed out he heard several people scream.

When Sherlock woke, the first thing he became aware of was that he was lying down. His whole body felt numb. He was in a bed, he realised, and it was so comfortable he could just drift off again, but wait. Why was he here? And where exactly was here? He opened his eyes and looked at a plain white ceiling, registering the smell of potions and the quietness. The hospital wing seemed the most likely place he could be. He heard voices.

‘I know you know who did this, Castiel,’ a voice said sternly, ‘and now one of your friends has gotten hurt. If you just tell someone then it’ll all stop.’

‘You know it’ll only get worse, Gabriel,’ Castiel’s solemn voice replied.

‘But if you just-‘

‘I can’t.’

Suddenly pain flooded from Sherlock’s ankles, his arm and his bruised eye, and he couldn’t help a loud groan escaping his lips. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to them.

‘Mr Edlund, it’s time to go. I’ll send your brother down as soon as I’ve fixed his rib,’ she said.

‘Thank you for taking care of them,’ said Gabriel courteously before leaving the ward. Sherlock’s ankles shot pain up his legs and he let out a high pitched wail that, if you were to ask him, he would deny he ever made.

‘It’s all right, Holmes, this will make the pain go away,’ said Madam Pomfrey, pouring a potion into his mouth.

‘Why can’t you just fix them?’ he moaned. ‘I heard you can mend bones in seconds.’

Madam Pomfrey’s stern expression softened at the look of intense pain on the young boy’s face.

‘I’m sorry, Sherlock, but your bones aren’t just broken, they’re crushed, so it’s going to take some time to fix them. I’m going to fix Castiel’s rib first so that I can give you all of my attention,’ she explained. She moved away and Sherlock felt his pain ease a little. Castiel was sitting awkwardly on the bed next to him, holding his side.

‘Ok, Castiel, this will only take a moment- I need you to lie flat on your back so I can get to that rib,’ she instructed.

Castiel slowly lowered himself on to his back, hissing through his teeth as he jostled his broken rib. Another wave of pain hit Sherlock, even past the numbing effects of the potion, causing his vision to flicker and he whimpered piteously.

The moment Madam Pomfrey had finished healing Castiel, the door burst open.

‘Where is he?’ a familiar voice demanded.

‘Mr Holmes, I really must insist that you leave. These boys have had quite a day already,’ Madam Pomfrey frowned. Mycroft ignored her and strode right over to Castiel.

‘Tell me, right now, who did this, and don’t say it was an accident because your whole class saw you both blasted off your brooms,’ he commanded.

‘I don’t know-‘

‘Don’t lie to me.’

Castiel looked extremely upset.

‘I can’t-‘

‘It’s no longer something you can keep to yourself because now it involves my little brother. Frankly I don’t care if you’re frightened-‘

‘Mycroft- aah!’

Sherlock had jumped up indignantly, momentarily forgetting about his ankles and falling to the floor. Mycroft hoisted him back on to his bed.

‘You see?’ Mycroft shot at Castiel, whose chin wobbled.

‘Mycroft…not…his fault,’ Sherlock choked.

‘Holmes, if you don’t leave now, I will send for Professor Flitwick,’ Madam Pomfrey fumed. Mycroft threw one last contemptuous look at Castiel before sweeping angrily out of the door. ‘Wait there, Sherlock, I’ll be back in a moment, I just need to get a potion.’

‘I’m not exactly going anywhere, am I?’ Sherlock grumbled.

‘I am sorry that you got hurt,’ Castiel sniffed. ‘And I know you’re afraid of flying, you didn’t have to do that for me.’

‘I didn’t do it for you, I was getting fed up of going to class alone because you were in the hospital wing. And I am not afraid of flying,’ he said, a little more harshly than he had intended but not enough to apologise. ‘What time is it?’

‘I don’t know. I think it’s almost dinner time. I’m grateful for what you did, although I’m still in the hospital wing,’ he joked feebly.

‘It could be worse. You could be me,’ Sherlock snorted, nursing his injured arm. ‘But could you get John for me? He lost our bet and owes me money,’ he said, lips twitching.

‘Really? What was the bet?’

‘That I wouldn’t fly properly.’

‘Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Before he left, Madam Pomfrey forced him to stay still as she bandaged a head wound that Sherlock had failed to notice before.

‘Be careful, Castiel. Such accidents can still leave a person quite shaky,’ she warned before he disappeared round the door.

‘Brace yourself, Sherlock; this isn’t going to be pretty. I’ll start with the ankle that’s not so damaged.’

Madam Pomfrey rolled up her sleeves, pulled on a pair of gloves and straightened out his legs carefully.

Castiel ran as fast as he could on his wobbly legs, Madam Pomfrey hadn’t been wrong about that, to try and catch the Gryffindors at dinner. He reached them just as Malfoy was walking away, glaring haughtily as he went.

‘What _is_ a wizard’s duel?’ Harry asked Ron.

‘A wizard’s duel is where you- blimey! What happened to you?’ Ron exclaimed, spotting the quivering Castiel, bandages and all. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The shock of falling five floors had finally caught up with him and he fell to his knees. Fred and George jumped up and pulled up his small frame by his arms.

‘Should you really be out of the hospital wing, mate?’ asked Fred. Castiel tried desperately to find his feet, but was unsuccessful.

‘I just came to…John,’ he said breathlessly.

‘What’s wrong?’ John said.

‘Sherlock…’

‘What about Sherlock? Is he hurt?’ John questioned sharply, it appeared that the gossip had not reached his ears yet.

‘I think we’d better get him back up to the hospital wing,’ said George. Castiel’s head was spinning by now, so he barely noticed when one of the twins lifted him off his feet and carried him back up to the hospital wing.

Sherlock was dipping in and out of consciousness when the door banged open. So far Madam Pomfrey had only fixed his left leg and the whole experience had been painful and exhausting. First of all she had rubbed a potion into his ankle. It stung and its effects were to relax the muscles around the injured area so that it was easier to access, although it hadn’t helped with the pain at all. One thing that Sherlock hadn’t realised, was that healing involved a lot of prodding with a wand and by the end of it, though he’d never admit it, tears were squeezing their way out of his eyes. He looked groggily around as Fred (or George) placed Castiel carefully on his bed.

‘I did warn him, silly boy,’ said Madam Pomfrey, tucking him in. He sleepily cuddled his coat that Gabriel must have brought up for him.

‘Thanks for bringing him up, boys. You can go now,’ she dismissed.

‘What happened?’ John asked Madam Pomfrey.

‘They were in a broom crash. Fell from the fifth floor. Awful business, flying. I’ve had that Neville Longbottom in here today as well. Broken his wrists, though I suppose you knew that already. It is rare to see a crash this bad though. I’ll be back in a moment.’

She bustled off again. John waited until she was gone and looked at Sherlock. He sat down on the end of the bed, moving Sherlock’s leg a little, causing a muffled shriek to issue from behind Sherlock’s teeth. John jumped up again and instead sat on a rickety chair next to the bed.

‘You owe me five sickles,’ Sherlock mumbled.

‘You flew then?’ John laughed.

‘Right, a broom crash. Now tell me what really happened.’

‘Whatever do you mean, John?’ Sherlock said innocently.

‘You’ve been moaning about how much you hate brooms all week. I highly doubt you suddenly changed your mind, and even if you did, you certainly wouldn’t have gone all the way up to the fifth floor. So what actually happened?’

‘We were attacked, well, Castiel was attacked.’

John gasped.

‘By who?’

‘I don’t know, although I suspect Castiel probably does. I think it’s the same person that’s been sending him those letters.’

‘So, Lucy then?’

‘Possibly.’

‘What exactly happened?’

Sherlock explained, in detail, what happened. When he got to when he was falling, he stopped, thinking that John wouldn’t appreciate hearing exactly how he hit the ground. John whistled incredulously.

‘Wow. So two crushed ankles, a broken arm and a black eye.’

He looked both shocked and impressed. ‘I suppose it could’ve been worse. Only you could seriously hurt yourself doing something you’d already refused to do.’

Just then Madam Pomfrey returned with another flask of the muscle relaxing potion.

‘You should go back to your dormitory, Mr Watson, this isn’t going to be pretty. Sherlock, this is the worse leg so bite down on this.’

She stuffed a rubber bit in his mouth. John looked fearful but stayed where he was.

‘Mr Watson, if you’re going to stay, make yourself useful and hold down his other leg.’

He hesitated and then firmly held Sherlock’s healed leg. Madam Pomfrey pulled on her gloves again, gently pushed up the leg of Sherlock’s robes and poured some sparkling blue potion into her hand, spreading it evenly over her fingertips. She sat down on a stool, rubbing her hands together.

‘Ok, Sherlock, here we go.’

She picked up his leg by the ankle, he inhaled sharply. She began rubbing the swollen, bruised joint and small whimpers escaped past the rubber in Sherlock’s mouth. Rubbing slightly harder to get to the whole joint, Sherlock started to lose control of his limbs. John held tightly on to his leg at least, but couldn’t stop his good arm from tearing at the sheets, his robes and hair.

‘You’re doing really well, Sherlock. I’m almost done,’ Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. She gave his leg one last squeeze and stood up, removing the potion stained gloves with her wand.

‘We’ll just give that a few minutes to take effect and then we’ll start the repairing.’

She went over to check on Castiel, who had woken up at all the noise.

‘Can you teach me to do that?’ they heard him murmur.

‘Well, I could certainly do with an assistant,’ she whispered back. John realised that the rubber was still in Sherlock’s mouth, so he carefully removed it for him.

‘You don’t… have to stay,’ Sherlock gasped.

‘Well, who else is going to make sure you don’t injure someone,’ John smiled.

‘All right, get ready, Sherlock.’

Madam Pomfrey sat back down on her stool and pulled up his leg again. She examined it for a moment and then jabbed it with her wand. Sherlock squealed. Madam Pomfrey, seemingly satisfied, prodded in what seemed like random places on his ankle and foot. Finally, she was done.

‘Well done, Sherlock. You’re over the worst of it- now let me see that arm.’

She poked it just the once and the bones slid smoothly back in to place.

‘For the next few weeks, I want you to wear support bandages on your ankles. You will be able to walk but take these crutches anyway-‘  she placed them beside his bed. ‘-so that if they start to ache, you can take the weight off them. If you put too much strain on them, the fractures could come apart again.’

She tightly bound his ankles and patted his shoulder.

‘I’m going to keep you both overnight, so you’d best get a good night’s sleep. Mr Watson, you should go back to Gryffindor Tower, it’s after-hours.’

She went in to her office and blew out her candles.

‘Don’t let Percy catch you out of bed,’ Sherlock chuckled, eyelids drooping.

‘G’night, Sherlock,’ John yawned. Sherlock had fallen asleep before he’d got out of the door.

Sherlock was dreaming. He was climbing an incredibly long ladder. It went on and on, up into the sky. He climbed until the sky went dark and then completely black, vaguely wondering how long it would take to get to the top. Then, the wind blew and rocked the ladder dangerously. Sherlock’s heart jumped to his throat, he was an awfully long way up… perhaps he should climb down… no, he wanted to see what was at the top, so he kept on climbing as the wind grew stronger. Eventually it became a gale, howling and whistling, pushing and pulling the ladder at will. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hold on. His heart thumped and with a forceful blow, the wind finally tugged his fingers from the ladder. He was falling through the air… falling… falling… He jerked up in bed, getting an unappreciative throb from the bruise around his eye, gasping for breath. It took a moment for him to realise it had just been a dream. He slowed his breathing and wiggled his ankles. They ached and felt stiff. It was around midnight and Castiel was still asleep, presumably, so was Madam Pomfrey. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he realised that he’d been changed into pajamas while he was asleep and he decided to go for a walk, in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness in his legs. He lost track of where he was going and he just kept walking, but eventually found himself staring at the portrait of the Fat Lady, which he knew to be concealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, only the Fat Lady wasn’t there. She’d probably gone on a night time-visit. He was about to go back to the hospital wing when the portrait swung open. Harry, Ron and John clambered out, closely followed by Hermione Granger, hissing,

‘Don’t you _care_ about Gryffindor? _I_ don’t want to see them win the House Cup-‘

‘Sherlock!’ John cut her off. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘I went for a walk. What are _you_ doing out here?’

‘They’re going to duel Draco Malfoy,’ Hermione sniffed, ‘and I, for one, am not going to-‘

She had turned to go back inside but found the Fat Lady’s portrait empty.

‘What am I supposed to do now?’ she shrieked.

‘That’s your problem,’ said Ron, ‘come on, we’re going to be late.’

Sherlock smiled. After today, this was something he’d like to see.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Hermione.

‘You are not!’

‘I’m not just going to sit here and wait for Filch to catch me-‘

‘Shut up! I hear something!’ Harry whispered. There was a strange sort of snuffling. Sherlock squinted through the darkness.

‘Neville?’ he breathed. He wondered how he’d missed the boy asleep on the floor. Ron jabbed him in the side with his foot and he snorted loudly.

‘Ron? Oh thank goodness you found me!’ he grinned in relief and climbed to his feet. ‘Oh, Sherlock. I saw you in the hospital wing earlier, you looked pretty mashed up. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he replied, shuffling his feet.

‘Why are you out here?’ John asked Neville.

‘I came back from the hospital wing but I couldn’t remember the password. I waited for someone to come, but no one did,’ he said sadly.

‘The password’s “pig snout” but it won’t do you any good now, the Fat Lady’s gone for a stroll. Listen, we have to go. See you, Neville,’ said Ron.

‘No, you can’t leave me! What if Filch comes? Or someone else? The Bloody Baron’s already been past twice!’

Ron glared at Hermione as if it were somehow her fault and John tapped his foot impatiently.

‘If either of you get us caught, I’ll learn exactly how to do the Curse of the Bogies and use it on you.’

Sherlock, having already learned that curse, thought this would be highly amusing.

Harry and Ron lead the way, followed by Neville and Hermione. John fell back to walk beside Sherlock.

‘Where are we going?’ Sherlock asked him quietly.

‘The trophy room. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?’ he asked concernedly.

‘I’ll be fine, John, I want to see what happens  for myself.’

They sneaked around, padding along lightly, expecting to find Filch or Mrs Norris around every corner. Sherlock was beginning to regret not grabbing at least his cloak before he left, seeing as he only had some flimsy pajamas to cover his skinny body. The cold did nothing for his newly healed ankles and he could feel them becoming stiffer by the minute. They finally reached the trophy room but Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet.

‘Bet he’s chickened out,’ Ron muttered, staring around at all the sparkling trophies. Sherlock bent down to examine a particularly large shield for special services. A noise in the next room made them all jump and raise their wands, except Sherlock, whose wand was still in his robes.

‘Sniff, my sweet, they might be hiding.’

It was Filch talking to Mrs Norris. Harry looked around, horrified, and beckoned madly for the others to follow him. They fled as quickly and silently as they could, away from the sound of Filch’s voice. Creeping down a long gallery full of suits of armour, they could hear Filch getting closer. Neville panicked and tried to run but tripped over the hem of his robes, pulling down a suit of armour as he fell. If Filch hadn’t known they were there, he certainly did now.

‘RUN!’ Harry shouted, pelting down the corridor. They raced down one corridor after another, not knowing where they were going or whether Filch was still following them. Soon, they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves running (hobbling in Sherlock’s case) along the Charms corridor.

‘I think we’ve lost him,’ Harry panted, wiping his forehead.

‘I- _told-_ you,’ Hermione gasped, clutching a stich in her side.

‘We need to get back to Gryffindor Tower,’ Ron wheezed, ‘quickly as possible.’

Sherlock shifted his weight on to his left foot. His right ankle was now throbbing painfully and he could feel it freezing in place.

‘We should go,’ said John when they had all caught their breath. This was easier said than done, however, as thye had barely made it a few steps before Peeves the Poltergeist shot out of a classroom in front of them.

‘Ooh ickle firsties! What are the ickle firsties doing out of bed?’ he cackled.

‘Please, be quite, Peeves. We’ll get chucked out-‘

He sucked in a huge breath and bellowed,

‘STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!’

They ducked around him and ran off. Sherlock’s ankles gave an enormous _crack_ and he had to stop. John grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along.

‘John, I can’t,’ he gasped.

‘You have to,’ John grunted, tugging on his arm, but to no avail. Out of desperation on hearing Filch’s shuffling footsteps; John pushed Sherlock into a classroom with its door slightly ajar and hid them both in a cupboard at the far end of the room. It was roomier in the cupboard than they had expected, so Sherlock carefully lowered himself to the floor and rubbed his ankles while John peeped through the crack in the door. He held his breath as Filch peered suspiciously in the room, but shuffled past. John sighed in relief, waited until he was sure Filch was gone, and was about to creep out of the cupboard when he heard whispered voices enter the room.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gabriel,’ a voice giggled. Sherlock pricked up his ears.

‘You know exactly what I’m talking about, Lucy, and I’m warning you, if you do anything like this again-‘

‘You’ll do what? We both know you can’t beat me, little bro.’

‘You could have killed that boy today!’ Gabriel hissed.

‘It wasn’t me,’ she said, almost sincerely.

‘Don’t bother, I know it was you, it’s been you this whole time!’

‘Prove it.’

There was a pause and then Lucy laughed lightly.

‘Good night, Gabriel.’

She left the room and Gabriel sat heavily on a desk. John was going to wait until  he left but one look at Sherlock’s face told him that he would not be able to stand, let alone walk all the way back to the hospital wing, so he pushed the door open and Gabriel looked up in surprise.

‘What are you doing down here?’ he asked. ‘Did you hear-‘

‘Everything, yes. I won’t say anything, but could you please help me get Sherlock up to the hospital wing?’ John pleaded. Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

‘I won’t ask any questions if you don’t,’ he said.

‘Sounds fair,’ said John. Gabriel dragged Sherlock out of the cupboard and lifted him into his arms. Sherlock looked extremely disgruntled but didn’t complain; he knew it was the only way he was getting back to bed.

‘How is Castiel,’ Gabriel asked Sherlock as he carried him up a flight of stairs.

‘He seems fine, just in shock,’ Sherlock grumbled.

By the time they hauled open the doors to the hospital wing; all three of them were exhausted. Sherlock fell (not that he could have done anything else) on to his bed, curled up under the covers and fell asleep.

‘Thank you,’ John whispered to Gabriel.

‘You’re welcome. Would you like me to escort you back to your dormitory?’

‘No thanks, I think I’ll stay and explain to Madam Pomfrey in the morning. You know, make up some excuse,’ he smiled.

‘All right, well, good night… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘It’s John.’

‘Good night, John.’

He glanced fondly at the sleeping Castiel before slipping quietly away. John sighed tiredly. It had been quite a day. He drew his chair closer to the bed, sat down and fell asleep leaning on the soft bedding.


	5. Hallowe'en

The next morning, Madam Pomfrey had been furious that she had to repair Sherlock’s legs again, but John managed to smooth it over by lying, unconvincingly, and telling her that Sherlock was a sleepwalker. Madam Pomfrey didn’t believe a word of it but didn’t question any further.

They both walked, Sherlock on crutches, down to breakfast, chuckling at Malfoy’s gobsmacked expression as they passed. Castiel, who had left the hospital wing earlier that morning, hurried over to join them. It seemed the Ravenclaws were already questioning him about their broom crash.

‘Where did you two get to? We thought you’d been caught!’ Ron said.

‘We hid in an empty classroom. What about you lot?’ John replied. Harry and Ron explained about their escapade with the three-headed dog. John and Castiel listened, wide-eyed and Sherlock seemed incredibly interested in the trap door they had seen.

‘How am I supposed to know how wide it is?’ Ron said, irritated at Sherlock’s questions. ‘I didn’t even see it, and if I did I don’t think I’d have a chance to measure it, do you?’

‘But why were you up there?’ Castiel asked.

‘We were running away from Filch, Malfoy tricked us into going to the trophy room in the middle of the night,’ Harry said sourly.

They spent the rest of breakfast plotting ways of getting their own back on Malfoy. The solution came a week later in the post in the form of a long, slim package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was amazed when they dropped it in front of him, knocking his bacon and several goblets of pumpkin juice to the floor. Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand,_

_but I don’t want everyone knowing you’ve_

_got a broomstick or they’ll all want one._

_Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the_

_Quidditch pitch at seven o’clock for your_

_first training session._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Harry handed the note to Ron, who then passed it to Sherlock and John while Castiel read it over their shoulder.

‘Wow a Nimbus Two Thousand!’ Ron gasped.

‘That’s a very good model,’ Sherlock said, eyeing the package.

‘Good? It’s one of the best!’ Ron exclaimed. Harry and Ron left the Hall quickly, leaving John, Sherlock and Castiel at the table.

‘Why did Professor McGonagall send Harry a broom?’ Castiel asked quietly.

‘Oh, I forgot!’ John said. ‘When Neville fell off his broom, he dropped his Remembrall. Malfoy grabbed it and flew off with it, but Harry went after him. Malfoy threw it and Harry chased it, he caught it after a fifty-foot dive! It was amazing! Professor McGonagall saw him doing it and now he’s Seeker for Gryffindor,’ John explained, vividly illustrating his description with various hand gestures. Sherlock said nothing. He wasn’t surprised as he’d already heard about James Potter being a very good Quidditch player.

They had been at Hogwarts for two months and Sherlock still had to use his crutches. He stood up from the breakfast table and glowered at them stubbornly. John caught his expression and laughed.

‘I told you, Sherlock. You could have got rid of them weeks ago if you didn’t keep “accidentally” leaving them in your dormitory,’ he said.

‘And _I_ told _you,_ I don’t need them,’ Sherlock scowled.

‘Right. I’ll remind you of that next time I have to drag you back up to the hospital wing because your legs have seized up, _again.’_

‘There’s no need for that, I’ll just get Castiel to fix it,’ Sherlock sniffed.

‘You overestimate my abilities, Sherlock. I’m far from being able to mend bones and muscles,’ Castiel said, stuffing his mouth with roasted pumpkin, specially made for Hallowe’en. After the incident with their brooms, Madam Pomfrey had agreed to give Castiel private lessons on healing. He was coming along nicely and was now able to heal small cuts and bruises.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and reluctantly put his arms through the loops in his crutches. John smiled approvingly.

‘Come on, Charms now,’ said Harry, wiping his hands. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had Charms together and it was one of the lessons John looked forward to the most. Not only did he enjoy the magic greatly, Sherlock almost always caused some sort of mischief by experimenting with his spellwork. Last lesson he’d managed to cause half the class to cough bubbles until Professor Flitwick had figured out how to reverse it, much to their amusement. They filed in and took their seats and were delighted when Professor Flitwick announced that they were ready to start making objects fly. He split them into pairs; Harry with John, Ron with Hermione, much to both of their displeasure, and Sherlock with Castiel on the other side of the room.

‘Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!’ squeaked Professor Flitwick. ‘Swish and flick and enunciate, we don’t want anyone with a buffalo on their chest.’

It was a lot more difficult than they anticipated, though not to Sherlock, who proved it by levitating his feather across the room and tickling John’s nose with it. John sneezed violently and glared at Sherlock for breaking his concentration. Moments later, however, it was broken again by a sharp jab to the head from Ron, who was swinging his arms wildly in an attempt to work the spell.

‘You’re saying it wrong,’ they heard Hermione snap. ‘It’s Wing- _gar-_ dium Levi- _o-_ sa, make the “gar” nice and long.’

Sherlock made his feather spin in mid-air and watched uninterestedly as everyone else was still trying to work the spell. Hermione was the first, apart from Sherlock, to levitate her feather, quickly followed by Castiel, who beamed proudly. Castiel had become far more cheerful lately and Sherlock noted the lack of any post at all. Whoever had been blowing him up clearly thought they were drawing too much attention to themselves, or they were planning something big. He had also noticed that Lucy was frequently absent from breakfast and pointed this out to Mycroft. Reluctant though he was to talk to his brother, Mycroft was Head Boy and had ears and eyes everywhere.

By the end of the class, Ron was fuming and they followed him out into the crowded corridor, which parted partially, thanks to Sherlock and his crutches.

‘It’s no wonder no one can stand her,’ he said as they pushed their way through the masses of bodies. ‘She’s a nightmare, honestly.’

Sherlock rounded on him instantly.

‘You’re intimidated because she’s vastly more intelligent than you,’ he said, narrowing his eyes.

‘Wha- no way!’

‘She was just trying to help you, so why were you so irritated by her?’

‘She- she was shoving it in my face! “I’m Hermione and I’m so much better than all of you-“’

‘I do that too but you don’t have a problem with me.’

Ron kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock’s crutches, which he was now brandishing angrily.

‘I never said I don’t have a problem with you-‘

‘So what’s the difference?’

‘You are being a bit mean,’ John said reasonably.

‘I’m not the only one that thinks so, she doesn’t have _any_ friends,’ Ron cried defensively. Someone knocked into Harry and he looked round to glimpse a tearful Hermione before she barged past.

‘I think she heard you.’

Sherlock humphed contemptuously and walked off, throwing his crutches aside furiously as he went. John rolled his eyes and went after him, gathering up his crutches. Castiel dithered for a moment but decided to go to his next lesson instead of chasing after Sherlock.

Hermione didn’t turn up to their next lesson, though John sidled in sheepishly half-way through, nor was she seen for the rest of the afternoon.

Harry, Ron and John were joined by Castiel on their way down to the Hallowe’en feast and informed them that Sherlock had been missing all afternoon as well. When they entered the Great Hall, Ron glanced around and looked guilty when Hermione still hadn’t appeared. He looked still more awkward when they overheard Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown that Hermione had been crying in the girls’ toilet and wanted to be left alone. Their thoughts were distracted from Hermione, however, when Mycroft came and dragged Castiel back to the Ravenclaw table (‘Everyone sits at their House tables for the feast’) as live bats flapped about their heads.

The feast appeared on the golden plates just as suddenly as it had at the start-of-term feast and Harry was helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, terror plain to see on his face. Everyone fell silent as they watched him run up to Dumbledore.

‘Troll- in the dungeons- thought you ought to know,’ he gasped before fainting at the foot of the table.

There were a few moments of shocked silence before the room exploded into screams and shouts. It took several firecrackers erupting from the end of Dumbledore’s wand to regain everyone’s attention.

‘Prefects,’ he rumbled, ‘will escort their Houses back to their dormitories immediately.’

Percy was in his element.

‘Gryffindors, this way! Stick together, first-years!’ he beckoned to them. Mycroft and the Head Girl stood either side of the doors like pillars, making sure that no one got separated from their Houses.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was sitting on top of a toilet, listening to Hermione sniff in the next cubicle.

‘You don’t h-have t-t-to st-stay,’ she choked.

‘It’s not like anything interesting will be happening at the feast, except perhaps Mycroft trying to eat all the sweets at once,’ he said, staring up at the ceiling. Hermione uttered a watery laugh.

‘Did you mean all the things you said?’ she asked.

‘Of course I did.’

‘It was really- nice of you.’

‘You sound surprised.’

A slight smile tugged at his lips.

‘I didn’t mean- I guess- it’s just, after you broke that girl’s nose I just didn’t think that-‘

‘I was capable of being nice,’ he finished. ‘I see my reputation precedes me.’

‘I-I didn’t mean-‘

‘It’s all right, Hermione, I would have assumed the same thing about me too.’

Silence fell, only broken by Hermione’s sporadic sniffling. Then Sherlock heard a noise, like giant, lumbering footsteps.

‘Sherlock-‘ Hermione began.

‘Shh,’ he hushed. The noise got louder and then stopped. Then there was a loud grunt and a scraping of a key in a lock, Sherlock remembered seeing a key in the lock of the toilets. He slowly and carefully opened the cubicle door and found himself gazing up at a fully-grown mountain troll. It hadn’t seen him yet so he took the opportunity to examine it. Hermione exited her cubicle and let loose an ear-splitting scream that made Sherlock jump violently. The troll turned its great ugly head to look down at them and snarled menacingly. Sherlock grabbed Hermione and had just pulled her to the far end of the room when there was a frantic scraping at the door and Harry, Ron and John burst through the door. The troll was advancing on them, sinks of the wall as it went.

‘Sherlock?’ John shouted in surprise. ‘What are you doing in the girls’ toilet?’

‘Not really the time, John,’ he shouted back, racing through everything he knew about trolls. They were extremely stupid and slow, although their enormous size generally made up for that. They had small ears and eyes and were easily confused. An idea struck him.

‘Confuse it!’ he shouted. Harry seized a tap and threw it at the wall, making a loud clanging sound. The troll lumbered around to see what was making the noise. It decided on Harry and raised its club. The others, bar Hermione, dashed around it and picked up bits of debris and started throwing it.

‘Oy, pea-brain!’ Ron yelled, throwing a lead pipe at it. It didn’t seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard Ron shouting and turned towards him instead. Harry dashed around the troll to grab Hermione and Sherlock pelted both of his crutches at it to keep its attention on him. John panicked and pointed his wand at it. He merely shot a few gold sparks at it but it infuriated the troll. It roared and swung its club at John. Sherlock, seeing this, dived on John, pushing him out of the way of the club but ending up being pinned under a pile of rubble. Harry and Ron continued to shout and throw things at the troll until it got so confused that it lunged at Ron, who had nowhere to run to. Sherlock and John were still trying to wriggle their way out from under the rubble so Harry desperately ran at the troll and jumped, somehow managing to fasten his arms around its neck. The troll didn’t notice Harry dangling from its neck, but certainly felt Harry’s wand sticking painfully up its nostril, as it had still been in his hand as he jumped. Hermione was still pressed against the back wall in fright and Harry clung on for dear life, knowing that at any second the troll could rip him off or catch him a blow from its giant, heavy club. Ron drew his wand and frantically cast the first spell that came into his head: ‘ _Wingardium Leviosa!’_

The club flew suddenly from the troll’s hand and hung in the air for a few seconds; it turned slowly over and dropped sickeningly on the troll’s head. It swayed dizzily on the spot and fell flat on its face.

Harry got shakily to his feet and he and Ron went over and pulled Sherlock and John out of the rubble.

‘Is it- dead?’ Hermione asked, trembling. Sherlock bent to examine it.

‘I don’t think so- just knocked out,’ he said, dusting himself off.

Harry bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose, John was impressed that it hadn’t broken, and grimaced at it- it was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

‘Eurgh- troll bogies.’

Harry wiped it on the troll’s trousers.

They hadn’t realised up until now how much racket they had been making, though someone downstairs must have heard all the crashing and the troll roaring, as Professor McGonagall burst in, followed by Snape and Quirrell.

Ron was still holding his wand aloft and they had never seen McGonagall so angry. Furious wouldn’t even begin to cover it. Quirrell took one look at the troll and quickly sat down on a toilet in terror. Harry wished Ron would lower his wand, because McGonagall was glaring at them in cold fury. Sherlock wasn’t particularly fazed by McGonagall and went rooting around in the debris for his crutches, and was quite pleased to find them crushed to bits.

‘What on Earth were you thinking of!’ Professor McGonagall demanded. ‘Why aren’t you in your dormitories?’

Harry looked down at the floor, willing Ron to put down his wand. John couldn’t think of anything to say, then a small voice came out of the shadows.

‘Please, Professor McGonagall- they were looking for me.’

‘Miss Granger!’ McGonagall exclaimed.

‘I went looking for the troll because I-I thought I could handle it because, you know- I’ve read all about them.’

Ron dropped his wand in shock. Hermione Granger telling a downright lie to a teacher?

‘If they hadn’t come and found me, I’d probably be dead by now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. Sherlock’s lost his crutches too. They didn’t have time to fetch anyone because it was about to finish me off when they got here.’

They all followed Sherlock’s lead and tried to look as if this story wasn’t new to them.

‘Well in that case…’ she stared around at all of them, ‘you foolish girl, Miss Granger. This is exactly the sort of behaviour I’d expect from Holmes, but not from you, how could you even think of tackling a troll on your own?’

Hermione hung her head in shame and John couldn’t believe his ears. Hermione was the last person to be doing something directly against the rules, it was as if Snape had started giving out sweets.

‘Five points from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgement. I am extremely disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt, you had best go back to Gryffindor Tower- students are finishing the feast in their Houses.’

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to the four boys.

‘I hope you boys know how lucky you are, not many first-years can take on a mountain troll. Five points will be awarded to each of you and Professor Dumbledore will be informed.’

She dismissed them and they ran out of the room.

‘So why were you in the girl’s toilet?’ John asked Sherlock.

‘I was looking for Hermione, obviously,’ he replied.

‘Oh, I see,’ John smirked. Sherlock gave him a withering look and hurried off in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

‘Wish she’d given us more than fifteen points,’ Ron grumbled.

‘Ten, once you’ve taken off Hermione’s,’ Harry corrected.

‘I think we were lucky not to be expelled,’ said John.

‘It was good of her to get us out of trouble like that. Mind you we _did_ save her,’ Ron said.

‘She wouldn’t have needed saving if we hadn’t locked her that thing in with her,’ Harry reminded him. They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

‘Pig snout,’ they said and they entered the common room. It was packed and noisy as the feast was still in full swing, but Hermione was standing by the door, waiting for them. There was an awkward silence where none of them looked at each other until they all muttered ‘thanks’ and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	6. Quidditch

Quidditch

The night before the first Quidditch match of the season was a noisy one, especially in the Gryffindor common room. John was sitting with Harry, Ron and Hermione by the window, doing their Charms homework (or rather, having it checked by Hermione). Fred and George were in charge, Percy having gone to bed early and none of the older students seemed to feel like doing anything to stop them. Harry was fidgeting in frustration. Snape had earlier confiscated his copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_ and was itching to get it back. He was just getting up to go and get it back when the room fell silent. The portrait hole had opened and Sherlock had clambered in. He walked straight over to their window, oblivious to the shocked stares he was getting. Ron gaped at him.

‘How did you get in here?’ he demanded.

‘With the password,’ Sherlock said dismissively. Harry caught John’s eye and supressed the urge to laugh.

‘Er right, well off to get my book back,’ said Harry.

‘Good luck,’ John snorted. Harry was half way across the room when he noticed a small figure hovering awkwardly by the portrait hole. Fred and George spotted him at the same time.

‘You might as well come in, I think Sherlock’s already broken any boundaries there might have been. He does like to show off, that one,’ said Fred.

‘Yeah. We won’t tell Percy if you don’t,’ George grinned. Castiel smiled uncertainly and shuffled over to take Harry’s seat by the window. Harry finally managed to leave the room.

‘It’s very nice in here,’ Castiel commented, gazing around appreciatively.

‘Yes, very- red,’ said Sherlock.

‘What are you doing in here?’ Hermione asked without looking up from John’s homework.

‘Got bored. I would have gone for a walk but Filch remembered to take his keys with him tonight,’ Sherlock grumbled. Eventually the rest of the Gryffindors got tired of gawking at Sherlock and Castiel and went back to their evening activities. A few muttered something about ‘going too far’ but most accepted their presence with good will.

‘Have you done the Charms homework yet?’ John asked. Castiel nodded.

‘If I thought it would be beneficial, I would,’ Sherlock said.

‘It would give you something to do though, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, if I wanted my brains to leak out of my ears,’ Sherlock snorted.

‘But how will you learn?’ Hermione asked, scandalised.

‘I thought it would be quite clear by now that I don’t need homework to learn,’ Sherlock scoffed. All the same he couldn’t help but peer over John’s shoulder at the question he was puzzling over.

‘The Hover Charm was invented in 1544 by Jarleth Hobart and it cannot be used on humans.’

John grinned and wrote it down; Hermione frowned disapprovingly but said nothing. Hermione had relaxed somewhat when it came to breaking the rules, having broken a great number of them fighting a troll. Harry burst into the room panting and ran over to join them.

‘Did you get it?’ Ron asked eagerly.

‘No, but I did find Snape with a great chunk bitten out of his leg, and he said “how are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?” You know what this means? He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Hallowe’en and tried to steal whatever it is it’s guarding. And I’ll bet you anything he let the troll in as a diversion,’ he finished breathlessly.

‘No- he wouldn’t!’ Hermione said, wide-eyed. ‘Why would he try and steal something Dumbledore’s trying to protect?’

‘Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something. I wouldn’t put it past him though,’ said Ron.

‘We all know Snape’s a right foul git, but I dunno, I doubt he’d try to steal something right under Dumbledore’s nose,’ said John.

‘The question isn’t whether or not Snape’s trying to steal something, but what there is to be stolen,’ Sherlock murmured, his eyes going misty as he thought it over. Eventually, Sherlock and Castiel left for Ravenclaw Tower and everyone else went to bed, the three-headed dog weighing heavily on their minds.

The next morning, the Gryffindor table was so crowded with students getting up early for the upcoming match that Sherlock and Castiel were forced to sit with their house. Sherlock sat sulking amongst the many students fervently that such matters as a Quidditch match were beneath them, while they were all secretly backing Gryffindor. By now it was widely known that Harry was their not-so-secret weapon and Sherlock watched him refuse all the food he was offered. So far it had been much more entertaining watching John trying to stuff a sausage up Harry’s nose than listening to Mycroft drone on about small skirmishes within Slytherin.

People began filtering out to the grounds and Sherlock sat patiently waiting for Castiel to finish excitedly scarfing down bacon. He glanced up vaguely as the owls flew in. As always, Castiel watched them carefully and his expression changed from excitement to fear as a large tawny owl soared towards him. The bacon on his fork fell back on the plate in front of him. For a moment everything seemed to be going in slow motion and Sherlock made to grab the letter but the owl had already flown over his head. It exploded with such a force that several Ravenclaws were knocked from their seats, including Sherlock and Mycroft, and Castiel was thrown clean from the table, landing with a resounding crash on top of the Hufflepuff table. Gabriel bolted up and held him by his elbows. He pulled his arms away from his face and there were several horrified gasps at the angry red burns all over his face before he was hurried away. Sherlock looked around wildly, clutching his sizzling arm. John had run to his side but he barely noticed. He finally found Lucy, staring, white-faced, but indifferent, only serving to incense him.

‘A little more powerful than you were expecting?’ he shouted at her. She looked slightly surprised, then amused. ‘I will catch you!’ he spat. Mycroft dusted himself down and grabbed Sherlock’s upper arm, steering him out of the Great Hall.

‘You really think that was clever, Sherlock?’ Mycroft hissed. ‘Shouting it across the Hall like that?’

‘Shut up, Mycroft, it’s not like they weren’t all staring at us anyway,’ Sherlock snapped, wrenching his arm away. ‘Did you find anything out yet?’

‘If you’d been paying the slightest bit of attention at all, you’d know,’ Mycroft sniffed. ‘The Slytherins have been-‘

‘I don’t care about the Slytherins!’ Sherlock cried exasperatedly as they climbed the stairs.

‘Do you really think you’ll catch her?’ asked John, who had been following them.

‘Of course I will,’ said Sherlock.

‘Well I’ll help you then.’

Sherlock stared at him for a moment before continuing up the stairs. As they approached the hospital wing, Sherlock thought that Castiel must have broken some sort of record by now. He’d been in there more times than most students in the whole school, let alone first-years.

‘Why can’t you fix it?’ Sherlock asked Mycroft.

‘I-I don’t know how,’ he mumbled, flushing slightly. Sherlock snorted and they entered the hospital wing. A bed right at the very end had already been curtained off and muffled sobs were emanating from it. Sherlock sat on the bed opposite and Madam Pomfrey emerged looking flustered, carrying a basin of yellowish paste. She siphoned some off into a tray and handed it to John.

‘Put this on his arm,’ she said before disappearing back behind the curtain. John started dabbing the paste onto Sherlock’s arm. It stung a little and smelled bad.

‘You should go down to the game,’ said Sherlock.

‘Yeah, all right, I’ll just leave this with Mycroft then, I’m sure he can handle it,’ John chuckled, glancing at Mycroft who had turned his face away from the smell. That silenced Sherlock. Suddenly, Lee Jordan’s voice drifted in distantly through the slightly open window.

‘And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor-‘

‘Well I’ve missed the start anyway, so I might as well stay,’ he smiled.

‘Why?’ Sherlock asked, looking utterly perplexed.

‘Well- because you’re my friend.’

‘My- friend?’

‘Yes, Sherlock, your friend,’ John laughed.

‘Why?’ he asked again.

‘I dunno, you’re an arrogant git most of the time,’ he joked, then looked up at Sherlock’s expression. ‘But I suppose you can be all right sometimes.’

Sherlock smiled a genuine smile as ‘GRYFFINDOR SCORE!’ floated through the window. Mycroft, who had been pretending not to listen, also smiled. It hadn’t always been easy for his little brother but this Watson boy seemed to have latched onto him.

Madam Pomfrey once again came out from behind the curtain and examined Sherlock’s arm swiftly.

‘Not bad, Watson. It should be fine, Sherlock. You can go down to the game and when it’s over, wash it off and the burn should be healed,’ she said. ‘You’ll need some new robes though, I’m sure your brother wouldn’t mind ordering some for you, and by the look of the legs on these I’d say you need some new ones anyway.’

‘Will Castiel be ok?’ John asked worriedly. A loud, collective groan could be heard coming from the stadium.

‘He’ll be all right I should think. There may be a little scarring, nothing too noticeable, though seeing as he got here so quickly I think we may be able to avoid it,’ she smiled grimly and slipped back though the curtains. Sherlock hopped off the bed and he and John almost ran from the room, positively buzzing with excitement, followed quietly by Mycroft.

They rushed down to the Entrance Hall where they could here cheering and hissing.

‘Slytherin in possession- Flint with the Quaffle…’ they could hear Lee saying. John glanced over his shoulder at Mycroft who was turning away from them.

‘Not coming, Mycroft?’ John asked.

‘Oh, no I have other matters to attend to,’ he said. John shrugged and walked out with Sherlock. As they drew nearer they heard shouts and screams that sounded more fearful than excited. Sherlock frowned, something was wrong. They sprinted down to the pitch and into the stands. Making their way along to Ron and Hagrid, they watched Harry’s broom rocked and bucked until it threw him off and he was holding on by his fingertips. John gaped and Ron pressed Hagrid’s binoculars to his grey face. Sherlock, instead of watching Fred and George trying to pull Harry onto their brooms, squinted around at the crowd. He knew that only powerful Dark magic could interfere with a broom like Harry’s, so he turned his sharp gaze onto the teachers and saw Professor Quirrell falling into the row in front of him, then a flash of blue flame that he knew Hermione to be particularly adept at producing appeared at the hem of Snape’s robes. Snape leapt up when he realised he was on fire, but before he could do anything about it, the flames were already gone. John was watching Harry with a mixture of awe and terror as he realised his broom had stopped vibrating beneath his fingers and swung himself back on it. John cheered loudly while Ron told Neville he could look. It was over within a matter of seconds as Harry dove towards the ground and the crowd, including John, gasped when he clapped his hands to his mouth and out popped the Snitch. He waved it above his head and the Gryffindors screamed their approval.

Twenty minutes later all five of them were sitting in Hagrid’s hut being made a cup of tea. Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty and Marcus Flint took it particularly hard, howling about how Harry hadn’t caught it, but nearly swallowed it. The win had been allowed, however, as no rules had been broken.

‘It was Snape,’ Ron explained to everyone. ‘Hermione and I saw him. He was muttering something. Wouldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid. ‘Why would he do a thing like that?’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Sherlock retorted. ‘Harry found out about him trying to get past that three-headed dog so naturally-‘

Hagrid dropped his teapot.

‘How do you know about Fluffy?’

‘ _Fluffy?’_ Sherlock exclaimed in disgust.

‘Yeah- he’s mine. I bought him off this Greek bloke I met down the pub- lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-‘

‘Yes?’

‘Now don’ ask me no more questions- that’s top secret that is. You all righ’ John?’

John had been staring out of the window at the Forbidden Forest.

‘What? Yes. Fine. Listen, whatever it is, Snape’s trying to steal it.’

‘Rubbish,’ Hagrid repeated. ‘Snape is a Hogwarts teacher.’

‘A teacher that just tried to kill Harry!’ Hermione cried. It appeared that Hermione’s attitude towards Snape had changed dramatically after the afternoon’s events. ‘I know a jinx when I see one; I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn’t blinking!’

‘I keep telling yeh yer wrong!’ he said hotly. ‘I don’t know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now listen to me, all of yeh- yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel-‘

John glanced at Sherlock who was watching Hagrid intently.

‘Aha!’ said Harry. ‘So there’s a Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?’

Hagrid looked furious with himself.


	7. The Mirror of Erised

The Mirror of Erised

John had had a terrible night’s sleep and when he finally gave up and went down to the Great Hall just as the sun was poking up over the horizon, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. He was worried about whether or not he’d be allowed in, but it turned out that he wasn’t the only one that woke up at the crack of dawn, so he sat down and watched Hagrid dragging in the Christmas trees. When Sherlock finally squeezed past Hagrid, John was gazing sleepily into a goblet of pumpkin juice.

‘You look terrible,’ Sherlock said, plonking himself down in front of John.

‘Thanks,’ John grunted.

‘Trouble sleeping?’

‘You have no idea. Do we have Charms today?’

‘WEASLEY!’

Snape’s furious voice drifted in through the open doors.

‘Yes but we’re skipping it.’

John grimaced.

‘Oh, God, why?’

‘We are going to sneak into the Slytherin common room.’

‘And by “we”, I really hope you mean you and your imaginary friend.’

Sherlock ignored John’s comment.

‘It’s easy. I’ve already got the password, now all we need is a set of robes and we’re in,’ he said brightly.

‘Right, remind me why,’ John said, rubbing his face tiredly.

‘We’re going to look for some evidence to incriminate Lucy,’ Sherlock grinned.

‘Oh right. Why can’t we tell the police or something? Everyone knows it’s her.’

‘It’s not that simple, John. We’re in the magical world now and, while it most likely _is_ her doing it, it could just as easily be someone framing her. Magical law is a lot more complicated than Muggle law. I did ask Mycroft about Veritaserum but apparently it’s illegal to use it on a minor without Ministry approval.’

‘Veritaserum?’

‘Oh, truth potion.’

‘Speaking of, where is Castiel?’ John asked.

‘Oh, he’s in the hospital wing. You aren’t the only one having trouble sleeping, so he decided to go and get some practice in. Madam Pomfrey seems to have a bit of a soft spot for him,’ Sherlock explained.

‘See, I told you he’d be in here,’ Hermione’s voice said. They both swivelled in their seats to see Harry, Ron and Hermione coming towards them.

‘All right, Hermione, we already know that you know everything so leave off will you?’ Ron moaned. ‘All right, John? We wondered where you’d got to.’

‘All right, Sherlock?’ Hermione smiled. Ron sniggered and thankfully Hermione didn’t hear him.

‘Where’s Castiel?’ Harry asked.

‘Hospital wing- he’s all right,’ he added hurriedly at the expressions on their faces. ‘He wanted to practice a bit.’

‘So how come you’re down so early?’ Ron asked, sitting next to John and immediately stuffing some bacon into his mouth.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ John said miserably. This was going to be a long day.

‘Did you find anything out yet?’ Harry asked.

‘About Nicolas Flamel? No, not yet. I recognise the name though, I think I heard Mycroft talking about him once,’ Sherlock said.

‘Oh good, now we’ll never know,’ John said sarcastically. Sherlock scowled but said nothing. John was right, of course, when Mycroft started talking, Sherlock very rarely listened.

‘What about Castiel, does he know anything?’ said Harry.

‘I asked him and he’s never heard of him,’ Sherlock said.

‘Oh well. You’ll keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ Hermione asked.

‘Yeah and you can ask your parents, it’ll be safe asking them,’ said Ron.

‘Very safe, seeing as they’re both dentists,’ she smirked.

‘I’ll try and ask Mycroft.’

‘Oh and get Castiel to ask his parents too,’ said Ron.

Later that day, after John had dozed off during lunch, he found himself sneaking around downstairs with Sherlock, already deeply regretting not going to Charms.

‘Why couldn’t we wait until after lessons?’ he hissed.

‘Because there would be more of a chance of someone recognising us. This way there’ll only be sixth and seventh-years there, if that, and they can’t tell one first-year from another,’ he whispered back, pushing John into a shadowy alcove and holding their breath, hoping that Gabriel, who was walking down the corridor, wouldn’t see them. Gabriel did, of course, see them, but chose to ignore them. He remembered his own antics as a first-year, that seemed so very long ago, and smiled as he walked past them.

‘After he was gone, John relaxed somewhat.

‘Lucy is a sixth-year,’ John pointed out.

‘It’s ok, she has Transfiguration, I checked earlier.’

They were going down a very sunny corridor and it lifted John’s spirits and even alleviated some of his tiredness. They took a right turn by a stack of barrels into another light and airy corridor, where they found the doors to the laundry room.

It was almost the same size as the Entrance Hall. One side was lined with Hagrid-sized wooden barrels while the other was stacked ceiling-high with neatly folded robes. John stared in awe at the barrels as a large pile of dirty robes threw themselves, one by one, into one of the barrels, where they proceeded to be scrubbed clean by large scourers and then hung themselves up to dry on a line at the far side of the room. While John was taking all of this in, Sherlock had already dashed over to the Slytherin stack and was digging through them to find some that would fit the both of them.

‘Aha!’ he exclaimed, pulling some from near the bottom of the stack. He threw some at John, who barely caught them. Without wasting any time, Sherlock pulled off his robes and stowed them in his schoolbag, before throwing the Slytherin ones over his head, doing all of this before John had even registered that he needed to take his clothes off. He copied Sherlock, getting a little tangled in the unfamiliar robes, and finally they were ready to go. They ran as fast as they could down to the dungeons. Sherlock slid to a halt in front of a stone wall and John bumped into him.

‘Warn me next time you do that,’ he grumbled. Sherlock ignored him and studied the wall for a second before whispering ‘Parseltongue’ at it. It slowly slid open, groaning as stone rubbed against stone.

They entered the empty common room, bathed in an eerie green light.

‘We must be under the lake,’ Sherlock muttered. John looked around at the cold, roughly hewn walls and at the ornate ebony fireplace. There were two elegant doors set into the wall at the back of the room. Sherlock examined the one on the left.

‘This one’s the girls’,’ he said.

‘How do you know?’

‘Traditionally, the girls’ dormitories are on the left side of the room. It’s the same in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Tower and I assume it’s also the case in the Hufflepuff common room.’

Sherlock reached for the decorative door silver doorhandle.

‘Wait!’ said John. ‘The girls’ dormitory in Gryffindor has this mechanism that makes the stairs turn into a slide if a boy tries to get in- what if it’s the same here?’

Sherlock paused for a second, then shook his head.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘Think about it, John. The girls in Gryffindor protect their dormitory because they believe the boys to be untrustworthy, right? They take trust for granted because they get along well with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. So what if they can’t trust the boys? They’ll always have each other, but it’s different with the Slytherins. They don’t protect their dormitories because if they don’t trust each other, who else have they got? People seem to forget that Slytherins are just as, if not more, loyal as the rest of us,’ Sherlock explained.

‘If you say so,’ John said doubtfully.

‘We’ll see.’

‘Sherlock grabbed the handle and gently pushed the door open. It opened smoothly and Sherlock smirked as they walked through it and met no resistance. The torches in the wall lit themselves as John closed the door behind them, and revealed a long stone corridor with seven more doors similar to the one they had just come through, spaced at large intervals. Sherlock poked his head through the one closest to them.

‘First-years,’ he muttered.

‘How do you know?’

‘No parents to tell them what to do so all of their things are all over the floor. If these are in ascending order then this one up here is the sixth-years’- ha! Here we are.’

He dragged John into the dormitory and cast his eyes about. It was very dark and enclosed, so much so that it caused John to squirm uncomfortably until Sherlock pulled back a silk green curtain to reveal a window set in the wall.

‘Aren’t we underground?’ John puzzled.

‘Enchanted windows, same as the ceiling in the Great Hall, they reflect the sky outside,’ Sherlock said.

‘Which one’s Lucy’s?’ John asked, looking at the long row of four-poster beds, carved from ebony and hung with more green silk. They walked along until they were stood under a small but intricate silver chandelier.

‘I think it’s that one over there,’ said Sherlock, pointing at the one on the very end that was surrounded by screwed up bits of parchment. As they drew closer they could see scorch marks on the stone wall and a small pile of red envelope scraps. Sherlock dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed and dragged out as many balls of parchment as he could find. John picked up a couple and tried to read them but the handwriting was so smudged and scribbled over that he couldn’t see any of the words properly.

‘I can’t tell who these are for, Sherlock,’ he said, squinting at the parchment. Sherlock said nothing but examined the remains of a scorched letter. He began to make some of it out by feeling the imprint in the back but before he could find anything incriminating the door banged open and Lucy strode in. All three of them froze and stared at each other and all of the colour drained from Lucy’s face. She rushed over to Sherlock and snatched the parchment from his hand.

‘What- have you- what have you read?’ she stammered. Sherlock stayed resolutely silent.

‘Get out,’ she whispered. Neither of them heard what she said and stayed rooted to the spot. ‘Get out!’ she shrieked, drawing her wand. Sometimes a little stubbornness is needed, but this was not one of those times, so John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and dragged him from the room, ducking as a chunk of stone exploded just above their heads. They sprinted through the common room, much to the surprise of the few Slytherins that had started to trickle in, and didn’t stop until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they knocked Castiel, who was walking miserably through the hall, to the ground and landing on top of him. Sherlock rolled off him immediately and burst into laughter while John staggered to his feet.

‘I’m glad that was fun for you, Sherlock,’ John grumbled. Castiel sat up and looked around, bewildered.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked. John and Sherlock looked at him and Sherlock burst out laughing again, causing John to crack the faintest of smiles.

‘What’s so funny? Why are you wearing Slytherin robes? You’d better hurry up and get your things, the carriages will be leaving soon,’ Castiel frowned, getting to his feet.

‘Are they really? Where’s your luggage?’ Sherlock asked.

‘It’s already in the carriage, I came to get you.’

‘Oh, all right. Merry Christmas, John,’ he said before dashing away up the staircase. John watched him go before turning to Castiel.

‘Going home for Christmas then?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Father says he wants to see me about my first term,’ Castiel replied.

‘Cool, well Merry Christmas then,’ he smiled as Gabriel appeared and steered him away for fear that he would miss the carriages.

The days leading up to Christmas passed in a haze of snowy tiredness for John and on Christmas morning, he was to be found snoring softly in a squashy armchair by the fire.

‘Oi, wake up!’ said Ron, wacking him with the sleeve of something woolly.

‘Whassappening?’ he said groggily, looking around at Harry and Ron.

‘It’s Christmas. I brought all your presents down for you,’ Ron said, dumping a small stack of parcels into his lap. ‘Go on, open them.’

‘What’s the rush?’ John moaned.

‘I’m hungry, come on.’

‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled. He opened a large, brightly coloured box first, which turned out to be several fluffy jumpers from his mother. Right at the bottom of the box was another present wrapped in newspaper with a letter attached.

_Dear John,_

_Merry Christmas! How’s your first term going? I hope you’re learning lots! I found this in the basement while I was looking for my knitting needles. Now that you’re at Hogwarts, there’s not really a lot to do around here, especially since Harry spends most of her time at her girlfriend’s house these days. She’ll come round eventually dear, don’t you worry about her. I do hope you’re behaving yourself. Anyway, I saw this and thought you’d need it more than I would._

_Lots of love, Mum xx_

John unwrapped the newspaper and uncovered a photograph in a simple wooden frame. It was a photo of his parents smiling at the camera. His mother, a small, willowy woman, had one arm wrapped around his father’s waist. He was in military uniform, this must have been the day he went to Afghanistan. Riding on his shoulders was a dumpy little seven-year old Harriet, and in his arms was a tiny toddler waving his chubby little fists.

‘Aw, that’s adorable.’

Fred’s voice behind him made him jump and he blushed.

‘Shut up,’ he said, shoving the picture back under a pile of jumpers.

‘That’s not very polite,’ said George.

‘Get lost,’ Ron snarled.

‘Ok, we’re going,’ Fred grinned, catching sight of Percy.

‘Open the rest, John,’ said Harry.

John got a bar of chocolate and a ‘Merry Christmas’ scribbled on a scrap of card from his sister, a box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione and a box of Every Flavour Beans from Castiel.

At the bottom of the pile was a thin, neat box with a note saying ‘To John, From Sherlock’.

‘Git. I’ve known him his whole life and he’s never got me anything,’ Ron grumbled. John opened it curiously and choked trying to laugh. In the box were two silk ties, on was the crimson and gold of Gryffindor and the other the green and silver of Slytherin.

‘Why has he got you a Slytherin tie?’ Harry asked quizzically.

‘We er, broke into the Slytherin common room,’ John laughed.

‘You did what?’ Harry and Ron exclaimed. Up until that point, John had completely forgotten to tell them.

‘Remember the last day of term when Sherlock and I weren’t in Charms?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, we were down in the Slytherin common room, looking for evidence against Lucy.’

‘How did you get in?’ Ron gaped.

‘With the password,’ John grinned, ‘and some Slytherin robes that we stole.’

For a while, they passed around a box of Every Flavour Beans until Ron mistook a pepper flavoured bean for a strawberry one, then they finally went down to the Great Hall for Christmas Dinner. John and Harry were absolutely blown away by the scale of the Hogwarts Christmas. There was so much food on the tables and the Christmas crackers made loud bangs like cannons going off and instead of the feeble plastic toys and flimsy paper hats that came with ordinary Muggle crackers, they got a burst of fireworks whenever they pulled one, a magical toy came out and a very large, very over the top hat came out. Dumbledore had immediately swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet and looked as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself. John was having great fun until he was showered in live, white mice from one of Harry’s crackers and decided it was time to go to bed. Harry and Ron waited for a while before they followed him up. Ron, who was stuffed full and warm and cosy, fell asleep immediately. Harry, however, couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t help but think about his new Invisibility Cloak. The note had said ‘ _Use it well’_ but what could that mean? Suddenly an idea occurred to him. Excitement coursed through him as he carefully pulled the Cloak from under his bed. He put it on and grinned down at the empty space that should have been his feet and left the room. In his haste, he didn’t notice that John was missing from his bed, nor did he notice that John wasn’t asleep before the fire either.


	8. Nicolas Flamel

Nicolas Flamel

Sherlock was in the Gryffindor common room again and was sulking by the window, having been banned from playing chess because he never played by the rules. John was trying not to fall asleep in by the fire while Ron played a game against Castiel. Hermione was watching John closely, scrutinising the dark shadows under his eyes and looking as if she was about to say something.

‘Spit it out, Hermione,’ John said tiredly.

‘You really ought to see Madam Pomfrey,’ she said. John sighed.

‘She’s right, you know,’ Castiel said, looking up from their game.

‘Don’t tell her that, it’ll make her head even bigger,’ said Ron without looking up. It was his move and he was currently losing. At that moment Harry walked in looking pale and John was glad for the distraction.

‘What’s up? You look awful,’ John asked.  Harry threw himself down in another chair.

‘Snape’s refereeing the next match,’ he said. Sherlock glanced over at them from the window.

‘No way!’ Ron said loudly, his head snapping up from the game.

‘That’s terrible!’ Hermione squeaked.

‘Checkmate!’ Castiel said triumphantly, causing Ron to groan in frustration.

‘You have to get out of it,’ said John.

‘Pretend to break your leg,’ suggested Hermione.

‘ _Really_ break your leg,’ said Ron. Castiel frowned disapprovingly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sherlock snorted from the corner.

‘Butt out, Sherlock,’ Ron scowled. Sherlock sniffed and turned away. John gave him a reproachful look but he had already gone back to his chess set to start a new game with Castiel.

‘I can’t drop out anyway, there’s no reserve Seeker, I’ll have to play,’ said Harry. Hermione looked terrified at the thought and John had finally fallen asleep. They sat in silence, with the occasional frustrated outburst from Ron, who couldn’t seem to beat Castiel, until they were distracted by Neville falling through the portrait hole with his legs stuck together. Everyone fell about laughing except Castiel and Hermione, who both jumped up to perform the counter to the Leg-Locker curse.

‘What happened?’ Harry asked him.

‘Malfoy,’ Neville replied shakily. ‘I met him and his cronies outside the library.’

‘Tell Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione cried. ‘Report him!’

‘I don’t want more trouble,’ he mumbled.

‘You have to tell someone! Malfoy’s used to walking all over people but you shouldn’t lie down and make it easier for him! You have to stand up to him,’ said Ron. Castiel was staring at Neville, who shuffled awkwardly under his gaze.

‘You’re worth twelve of Malfoy,’ he said quietly. Harry fished his last Chocolate Frog out of his pocket and handed it to Neville, who looked like he might cry. He pulled out the card and handed it back to Harry.

‘Thanks. You collect these, right?’ he said before walking away miserably.

‘Hey, it’s Dumbledore, you know he was the first one I ever…’ Harry read the back. ‘ _It’s him, I’ve found Flamel!’_ he said. Sherlock came over to see what was going on, climbing over an armchair and waking John in the process. He looked over Harry’s shoulder at the card.

‘”Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood _and his work o alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!”’_ Harry read aloud. Sherlock slapped a hand to his forehead.

‘Of course!’ he said. ‘Why didn’t I pay more attention?’

‘You were probably sulking,’ John chuckled sleepily. Hermione dashed up to her dormitory and came back with the thickest book any of them had ever seen.

‘I never thought to look in here; I checked it out weeks ago for some light reading.’

‘ _Light?’_ Ron said. Hermione glared at him. She flipped through the book until she found what she was looking for.

‘Here we are. Nicolas Flamel is famed for his work in alchemy and _is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone.’_

Sherlock gasped loudly and Castiel dropped the pawn he was about to move.

‘The what?’ said Harry and Ron.

‘Oh, _honestly,_ don’t you two read? Here, read that there.’

Hermione turned the book towards them and pointed at the passage she was referring to.

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with_

_making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary_

_substance with astonishing powers. The Stone_

_will transform any metal into pure gold. It also_

_produces the Elixir of Life, which will make_

_the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s_

_Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently_

_in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted_

_alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who_

_celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday_

_last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife,_

_Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

‘See?’ said Hermione. ‘That’s what that dog’s guarding!’

‘And Flamel asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it,’ Sherlock said, pacing around by the fireplace.

‘That’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!’ exclaimed Hermione.

‘A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!’ said Harry. ‘No wonder Snape’s after it!’

‘ _Anyone_ would want it,’ Castiel said, frowning at the game he’d accidentally ruined when he dropped his pawn.

John had long since gone back to sleep, which no one noticed until he let out a small whimper at a particularly vivid dream. They all looked over at him.

‘This can’t be good for him,’ Hermione frowned.

‘I know. I asked Madam Pomfrey and she gave me some potions to try. I slipped them to him during the course of the week but they don’t seem to be doing anything. The only thing left to try is the Draught of Living Death, but that would be highly dangerous,’ Castiel said, concentrating on the chess game that he was now losing.

‘There must be something,’ Sherlock muttered just as Ron shouted ‘Checkmate!’

***

During Defence Against the Dark Arts the next day, the four Gryffindors were still discussing what they’d do with their own Philosopher’s Stone. It was only when Ron said that he’d buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered the upcoming match. He gulped but was determined to participate in the match, so he carried on studying different ways of treating werewolf bites. By the end of the lesson Hermione had memorised every way of treating werewolf bites and John had gotten in trouble for falling asleep at his desk.

***

The match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was growing nearer and everyone was starting to feel tense, even Sherlock, though he didn’t show it. Snape had taken to popping up all over the castle, convincing John that he was trying to put Harry off of the game. Meanwhile, Castiel was putting most of his efforts into practicing, just in case.  Although he couldn’t heal much more than a bruise, he was still making good progress. Hermione had also begun to fuss over John whenever he so much as yawned and it was really beginning to get on his nerves.

***

Sherlock and Castiel met the Gryffindors and they proceeded down to the Quidditch pitch, saying goodbye to Harry at the changing rooms.

‘Now remember, it’s _Locomotor Mortis_ ,’ Hermione whispered. They had all been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker on Snape in case he tried anything. Sherlock, however, was planning something a lot less friendly.

‘I know what it is, don’t nag,’ Ron grumbled. John, who had had the best night’s sleep he’d had in a while, was very excited about the match. He’d heard that Slytherin had won the House Championship for the last seven years running and Gryffindor finally had a chance to overtake them. They all slipped into their seats, John, Hermione and Ron in front with Neville with Sherlock and Castiel behind them, leaning on their friends’ seats and cast their eyes about the pitch as the players and Snape marched on.

‘It’s Dumbledore!’ Hermione squealed, pointing at a place in the stands, and so it was.

‘Fantastic! Now Snape can’t try anything,’ John exclaimed.

‘Blimey, he doesn’t look too happy, does he?’’ said Ron. ‘Ouch!’

Malfoy had appeared behind them and poked Ron in the back of the head.

‘Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there,’ he sneered, grinning at Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom for. Bets? How about you, Weasley?’ he said loudly. Ron, however, wasn’t listening, and this annoyed Malfoy, who was used to being the centre of attention. Sherlock was just about to enjoy the fireworks that would surely ensue with Malfoy’s taunting, when another boy with dark hair and the sort of face that one would consider covering up with a bag sidled up to John.

‘Hey, heard you’ve been hanging out with the freak’ he said.

‘Shut up, Anderson,’ Sherlock snapped.

‘Why should I? Freak.’

John looked up and took in the Slytherin robes and thick bushy eyebrows. A Ravenclaw girl with springy curls stood behind him wearing an amused smirk.

‘I’m sorry, is there a problem?’ John asked coolly.

‘No, not at all, just him pretending he knows everything,’ Anderson replied, equally as cool. His voice had that slow, monotonous quality that would either put a person to sleep or irritate them to no end, and John was getting more irritated with every word he spoke.

‘I told you to _shut up, Sylvia_ ,’ Sherlock growled, however he didn’t sound nearly as irritated as he’d hoped and John noticed the uncertainty and worry in his eyes.

‘It’s _Sullivan_ ,’ the girl spluttered.

‘It’s all right Sally, I can handle the freak and his pet friend. Did you know he collects turnips and experiments on them?’

John jumped up angrily.

‘He could collect _eyeballs_ for all I care, he’s still a million times better than you’ll ever be. How do you even know he collects turnips anyway?’ John said heatedly.

‘I’ve known him for years, right, Sherly? He used to want to be a pirate, but now he fancies himself a detective,’ Anderson laughed. That was it, John thought. Afterwards, he couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was that made him do it. Perhaps it was Anderson’s stupid face or his annoying voice, or maybe it was that Sally girl laughing behind him. Maybe it was his frayed nerves from his recent exhaustion. Most likely it was the hollow look on Sherlock’s face that said all too well how much he’d endured in the past. Before Anderson had the chance to react, John was on him, jamming his fists into all the places he knew it would hurt, getting himself a satisfying grunt of pain whenever he landed a blow. Suddenly Anderson threw John off and started throwing punches of his own. Castiel, seeing this, stood on his chair and jumped in him in a very Sherlock-like fashion. Hermione did not notice any of this, nor the scuffle that was happening between Ron, Neville, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. She had her fingers crossed desperately and on her feet as Harry streaked towards the ground. Suddenly, he jumped off his broom a foot from the ground, the fluttering Snitch clutched triumphantly in his hand. The stands erupted and Hermione jumped up and down on her seat.

‘He won, we won, _he won_!’ she shouted. Everyone immediately stopped throwing punches and aiming kicks to look down at the pitch. It was quite something to behold. On Hermione’s left side Castiel was perched on Anderson’s shoulders, a fist full of hair, while Anderson had hold of the front of John’s robes with a fist drawn and John had a heel jammed down on Anderson’s foot. On Hermione’s other side, Ron had Malfoy in a headlock, dripping blood from his nose, Crabbe was lying on the ground clutching his shin and Goyle had Neville’s arm  twisted behind his back. Sherlock had melted into the crowd and disappeared. Then everyone came to their senses. Castiel jumped off of Anderson, who fixed his robes in an attempt to retain his dignity (not quite possible with a swollen lip and a scrape to the eyebrow) and slunk off with Sally. Goyle dropped Neville to the ground, where he lay unconscious, and shuffled off with Malfoy and a limping Crabbe.

While the students all spilled out of the stadium, they began to realise that they were all a bit worse for wear. Ron’s nose was still dripping, a bruise was beginning to form above Castiel’s left eye and John had a nice long scratch along his jaw, accompanied by a tingling sensation in his leg that wasn’t particularly painful, but he was sure it couldn’t be a good sign. By far the worst off was Neville, who was still out cold and had to be carried up to the hospital wing. There was no sign of Sherlock anywhere. Ron decided to go straight up to the after-party, but John thought that he’d quite like Madam Pomfrey to take a look at his leg, so Castiel went with him.

‘You know, you’re pretty handy in a fight,’ John said to Castiel as they, once again, climbed the stairs to the hospital wing.

‘I had a good teacher,’ he replied. John grimaced as pain shot up his leg.

‘Oh yeah? Who?’

‘Gabriel.’

‘ _Gabriel?_ ’ John exclaimed in surprise. Gabriel did not seem the type to get in a fight with anyone, let alone his little brother.

‘Oh yes. He used to play tricks on me all the time,’ Castiel smiled. ‘I learned some great moves from him.’

It was an agonising process getting to the hospital wing, by which time, John had to drag his leg along the corridor, leaning heavily on Castiel.

‘I wonder where Sherlock got to,’ John puffed.

‘I don’t know. Last time I saw him was just before you attacked Anderson,’ said Castiel.

‘You mean when _we_ attacked him,’ John corrected

‘Yes, when we attacked him.’

They pushed their way through the doors, where the first thing they saw was Neville laying sprawled out on a bed, snoring softly. Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

‘Dear, oh dear, another one? Goodness, what happened to your eye?’ she asked Castiel

‘I’m fine, it’s John you should take a look at,’ he replied. Madam Pomfrey looked at the scrape on his face and frowned.

‘I’d have thought you could take care of this yourself, Castiel,’ she said.

‘No, not that, his leg.’

‘Oh! Well, what’s wrong with it?’

John hobbled over and sat down on the edge of one of the bds.

‘Erm, I’m not really sure. At first it was all tingly, then it starting hurting a bit, but now it’s sort of stiff and I can’t put any weight on it,’ he explained.

‘I see. You’d better lay back- that’s it- now lie on your good side so I can get a good look at it.’

He rolled over painfully slowly until he was in a comfortable position. Castiel grabbed a book and pretended to read it, when he was actually watching Madam Pomfrey carefully running her hands up and down John’s hip and thigh, checking for abnormalities.

‘I think I know what the problem is,’ she muttered before grabbing her wand and prodding at a spot half way down his thigh.

‘Ah yes, you’ve managed to get the nerves all twisted up, this’ll only take a moment- Castiel, I hope you’re watching this.’

She pointed her wand at John’s leg and waved it in a small circle and said ‘ _Release_ ’. Immediately, John felt his leg regaining normal feeling.

‘You ought to be careful, Watson, that can become a recurring problem,’ she said before turning her attention to Neville. John moved up so that Castiel could sit cross-legged on the end of the bed while they waited for John’s pins and needles to subside.

‘Haven’t been seeing you around much lately, how’ve you been?’ John asked kindly.

‘Oh, um, not bad. Can’t complain. I have been around, you’ve just been asleep,’ he replied.

That’s true. So, erm, any- letters?’ he asked hesitantly. Castiel’s smile dropped and he fidgeted uncomfortably.

‘A few,’ he mumbled. At that moment the door creaked open and in crept Sherlock.

Sherlock!’ John cried. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’

He ducked his head in shame and shuffled over to them. He left the question unanswered but John could see slight red blotches around his eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ Sherlock asked warily.

‘Yeah, I’m fantastic. Got Anderson right in the face- what’s wrong?’

Sherlock’s lip wobbled and he sniffed slightly. All at once his whole demeanour broke down into the frightened little boy he was, stripped of the biting sarcasm and the list of insults waiting to be thrown. John gaped at him until he collected himself a little better.

‘Sherlock, what-?’

Castiel was staring at Sherlock worriedly, glancing at John as if to say ‘what do we do?’ Then it clicked in John’s head.

‘Is this because of what Anderson said?’ he asked. Sherlock nodded.

‘Oh, you giant doughnut!’

Sherlock and Castiel looked at him in surprise.

‘Did you really think I’d listen to a word that slime ball Anderson says? I meant it when I said I don’t care about your stupid turnips!’

Sherlock’s eyes started watering again and John took pity on him.

‘You daft sod,’ he said before throwing his arms around his neck. Sherlock’s bony shoulders stiffened in his embrace but then began to sob uncontrollably while Castiel patted him awkwardly on the back.

‘Don’t pay attention to what that foul git says. You’re a million times better than him and you know it,’ John said fiercely. Sherlock merely hiccoughed in a feeble attempt to stop himself from soaking John’s robes.

‘You shouldn’t let other people choose who you are just because they don’t understand you, Sherlock,’ Castiel said. ‘If you want to be a pirate, then you be a pirate, although I wouldn’t recommend it as it is slightly illegal. I’d advise you go down the detective route.’

Sherlock extricated himself from John at last to laugh weakly at Castiel.

‘Now then, who wants to come to the after-party with me?’ John grinned. Both Castiel and Sherlock looked doubtful, but John just rolled his eyes.

‘Come on, it’ll be fun,’ he urged. Finally, Castiel relented and shrugged his shoulders. John clapped his hands together, jumped off the bed and made for the door, followed by Castiel and, slightly hesitantly by, Sherlock.

‘You know, we should really try not to get sent to the hospital wing so much,’ John commented as they exited.

Just as they got back to Gryffindor Tower, three figures came hurtling out and crashing straight into them.

‘Oh, hey! We were just coming to find you,’ said Ron. ‘Nice eye,’ he said appreciatively to Castiel.

‘What’s going on?’ John asked.

‘Dunno, ask Harry,’ he replied.

‘I’ll tell you as soon as we find somewhere quiet,’ said Harry. They checked that Peeves wasn’t in the room before closing the door firmly.

‘Ok, so we were right, it is the Philosopher’s Stone that Fluffy’s guarding-‘

‘Of course we were right,’ said Sherlock.

‘Right. And Snape’s trying to steal it.’

‘How do you know?’ John asked.

‘Well I followed Snape and Quirrell into the Forest-‘

‘You _followed_ them?’

‘Into the Forest!’

‘Will you all just shut up and let me finish!’ Harry cried exasperatedly. ‘Thank you! As I was saying, I followed them and heard them talking and Snape’s definitely trying to force Quirrell into helping him get it. I heard him ask Quirrell if he knew how to get past Fluffy, then he said something about Quirrell’s “hocus pocus”, that must mean that there’s other things besides Fluffy guarding it.’

‘Ooh, how many do you think there are?’ Hermione squealed, excited at the prospect of complicated spellwork and defences.

‘My best estimate would be seven,’ said Castiel.

‘Oh yeah, how’d you work that one out?’ Ron asked sceptically.

‘Well, first of all, the teachers will have all done something, then you have to assume that they’ve only added one obstacle each so that all of their efforts and concentration will be concentrated for maximum effect. Then you narrow it down to the subjects that are likely to be most effective, for example, Defence Against the Dark Arts would be useful, while Muggle Studies would not, so that would mean there would be one obstacle designed each by Professors Sprout, McGonagall, Flitwick, Quirrell and Snape, although I suppose Snape’s wouldn’t be very effective if he’s trying to steal the Stone. Then, obviously, there’s Fluffy and Dumbledore will have done something impressive, no doubt.’

When he finished his explanation everyone, including Sherlock, gaped at him in amazement, which he mistook for confusion.

‘I could write it down in a series of equations if you’d like,’ he said.

‘Nah, you’re all right, thanks,’ said Ron.

‘So Quirrell’s probably done some sort of anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through-‘

‘So you’re saying that the Stone’s safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape,’ said Hermione in alarm.

‘It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,’ Ron groaned.  

 


	9. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

In the weeks that followed, John watched Quirrell nervously for signs that he'd given in to Snape and Castiel's exploding letters became so frequent that he'd stopped coming down to the Great Hall for breakfast altogether, choosing instead to have a small snack in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey. This took its toll on everyone Sherlock had taken to pacing irritably whenever he had a spare moment, while Hermione went about muttering counter-curses that may help, as much for Quirrell as for Castiel. Gabriel could be seen wandering the corridors looking tired and worried, although he always spared a smile for them whenever he saw the. Lucy remained as amused about the whole thing as she had ever been but she started becoming more chaotic as the days turned.

 

All too soon their minds turned to their exams, and drove almost all thought of anything else out of their heads. Hermione had drawn up revision timetables and colour-coded her, and everyone else's, notes. Castiel had begun leaving neatly stacked piles of notes and reminders where everyone could find them. John was very grateful for them as he feverishly copied them down. He was beginning to realise just how much he'd been missing during his mid-lesson naps. Sherlock and Ron, however, weren't worried.

'Don't know what you lot are so worked up about,' Ron said one day, 'the exams are ages away.

' _Ten weeks,'_  Hermione replied. 'That's like a second to Nicolas Flamle.'

'Yeah but we're not six hundred years old,' he reminded her.

'Come on, Ron, even John's revising.'

'Yeah, that's because he sleeps through most of our lessons,' Ron laughed. Hermione humphed but said nothing as she was reminded of John and looked over at him jotting down Castiel's handy tips.

 

Unfortunately the teachers thought it was high time they started revising as well and piled as much homework on them as they possibly could over the Easter holidays, which, incidentally, were not nearly as fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood next to you and John and Castiel's constant scribbling. They spent most of their time grumbling and moaning in the library.

 

On one particularly sunny afternoon Ron was gazing wistfully out of the library window at the clear blue skies and the bright sun warming the grounds. He could just see the giant squid basking in the sunlight. No one except Hermione was concentrating very well. John was resting his forehead against the desk, most likely asleep, Sherlock was tapping his foot impatiently and Castiel had been staring at the same page of his book for the past hour or so. Harry, who was looking up 'Dittany, in  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ didn't look up until he heard Ron say, 'Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?'

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back and looking very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

'Jus' lookin',' he said shiftily. Everyone except John's attention was immediately captured. 'An' what're you lot up ter?' He looked suddenly suspicious. 'Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel are yeh?'

'Nah we found him  _ages_ ago,' Ron said impressively. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the section Hagrid had just been in and slowly started narrowing down which it might be.

'There's a few things we wanted to ask you, actually,' Harry said. 'First of all, what's guarding the Stone besides Fluffy-'

'We know what's guarding it though,' said Ron.

'No, we know  _who's_ guarding it,' Hermione corrected.

'SHH,' Hagrid hissed, looking around worriedly. 'Listen- come an' see me I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin' mind, but don't go rabbittin' about it in here. Student's'll think I told yeh-'

'See you later then,' said Harry.

Hagrid shuffled off. Once he was gone, Sherlock jumped over the table and started shaking John awake.

'John, wake up,' he said loudly. John's head snapped up and he looked around blearily.

'I wasn't asleep,' he said automatically.

'Of course you weren't. We're going to Hagrid's tonight, he's going to tell us more about the Stone,' Sherlock said.

'Okay, cool,' John mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

'I wonder what he was hiding behind his back,' Hermione said thoughtfully.

'I'm going to see what section he was in,' said Ron.

'I think you'll find that he was in the dragons section,' Sherlock called after him before turning back to John, letting everyone else mutter about dragons when Ron returned with an armful of books. John's head was lolling again and Sherlock snapped his fingers in front of his face.

'Come on, John!' he said exasperatedly.

'Do you mind?' John replied irritably. He was getting less sleep than usual these days because of all the revision he'd been doing, so he constantly felt as if he had grit in his eyes and his limbs felt leadened. He had also begun falling asleep in strange places, the most recent of which, Castiel had found him curled in a ball in a shadowy corner of the castle courtyard.

'This is getting ridiculous,' Sherlock grumbled.

'Oh wow, you think so?' John said sarcastically.

'There must be something you can do.'

'Don't you think that if there was, I would have done it by now?' he exploded. 'I wish more than anyone that I wouldn't keep falling asleep everywhere.'

Sherlock looked genuinely upset for him.

'Why do you think it's happening?' he asked him. He sighed and ran a hand though his blond hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

'I don't know, I just go to bed like normal but when I get up it feels like I was never asleep at all. Maybe it's the weird dreams,' he added.

'Weird dreams? What are they like?' Sherlock asked. John shrugged.

'I don't know, I can never remember them- just that they're really weird. And dark.'

Sherlock frowned and leaned back in his seat, pondering the mystery further.

An hour later they were knocking on the door of Hagrid's hut and were surprised to find the curtains closed.

'Who is it?' Hagrid called before he opened the door to them, closing it quickly behind them.

It was stiflingly hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day outside, there was a fire blazing in the grate. Hagrid made them all tea and offered them stoat sandwich, which they refused.

'So- yeh wanted to ask me somthin'?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone besides Fluffy.'

Hagrid frowned at him.

'Blimey, you don't hang around, do yeh. Course I can't, don't even know meself. Beats me how yeh even know about Fluffy.'

'John,' Sherlock said sharply. John was staring dreamily out of the window in the direction of the Forest, though he wouldn't be able to see anything past the curtains. He blinked and looked around at Sherlock.

'What- sorry?' he said dazedly.

'What were you thinking about?'

'Nothing much, just how lovely the Forest looks this time of year…'

Suddenly his attention focused back on the conversation as if nothing had happened, just as the others were discussing Snape.

'Look, Snape helped  _protect_ the Stone, he's not about ter steal it,' Hagrid was saying. Castiel looked vaguely pleased that he had correctly deduced which teachers were guarding it; however it was overshadowed by his worry for the Stone.

'Well that changes everything. I'm sure he was just paying Fluffy a social call,' Sherlock said sarcastically, growing even more irritable in the heat.

'Shut up, Sherlock,' John snapped. 'You're the only one that knows how to get past Fluffy, right, Hagrid?'

'Not a soul knows but me and Dumbledore,' he replied.

'Well that's something,' Harry muttered. 'Can we open a window, Hagrid, I'm boiling.'

'Sorry, Harry, can't,' he said, glancing at the fireplace. Harry and Sherlock followed his gaze and gasped loudly.

'Hagrid, what  _is_ that?' Harry asked, but he already knew. In the heart of the fire, beneath the kettle, was a big, black egg.

'Er- well it's erm-'

'Where did you get it?' Ron asked, crouching by the fire. 'It must have cost you a fortune.'

'Won it las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' I won it in a game o' cards with a stranger. Seemed quite pleased ter be rid of it as a matter o' fact,' Hagrid explained.

'Oh, I wonder why. Carrying dragon eggs around isn't illegal or anything,' Sherlock sneered.

'That's a  _dragon_ egg?' John said in disbelief.

'Do keep up, John,' said Sherlock.

'What are you going to do with it once it's hatched?' Hermione asked.

'Well, I've been doin' some reading,' he said, pulling a large book from under his pillow. 'Got this outta the library-  _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit-_ bit outta date o' course but it's all in there. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' how ter recognise diff'rent egss- what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them.'

He looked very pleased with himself, but no one else did. Harry and Ron were watching Hagrid, absolutely gobsmacked. Castiel looked as if he'd like nothing better than to get as far away from the egg as he possibly could.

'Hagrid, you live in a  _wooden house_ ,' Sherlock pointed out, but he wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

 

Now, on top of everything else, they had Hagrid's illegal dragon to worry about. The stress was even beginning to get to Sherlock and he suffered a spate of painful headaches and he snapped at everyone for the smallest things. Evening after evening, they struggled with homework and revision.

One morning at breakfast, Sherlock was resting his chin against the table and John was snoring into his bowl of porridge.

'Can't you just stay awake for five minutes,' Sherlock snapped, pushing John out of his seat.

'What on Earth was that for?' John demanded, head appearing above the table.

'You were being irritating,' he replied.

' _I_  was being irritating?'

'That's what I said.'

John sighed, rolled his eyes and climbed back into his seat.

'I'm not doing this today,' he said, but Sherlock wasn't listening. Across the hall, Lucy had stood up and bolted from the room, clutching a piece of parchment in her hand. Sherlock stood up to follow but John was tugging at his sleeve, stopping him from going. Hedwig had just dropped a note on the table in front of Harry.

'It's from Hagrid,' he said as he tore it open. It had two hastily scribbled words on it:  _It's hatching._

Ron wanted to skip Herbology altogether and go straight to Hagrid's, but Hermione reminded them of their impending exams, so they begrudgingly went down to the greenhouses. Sherlock ad taken the message up to Castiel but refused to go to Transfiguration with him, choosing instead to hide outside the greenhouse, occasionally poking his head through the window, to see what was going on when Professor Sprout wasn't looking.

Herbology was the one lesson that John never fell asleep in, mostly because he had no wish to be attacked by the Venomous Tentacula seedlings. The lesson passed agonisingly slowly as they anticipated going to Hagrid's, only punctuated by one particularly tense moment when Sherlock was almost dragged through the window by the Tentacula.

 

At last, the lesson was over. As soon as the bell rang they dropped their trowels and hurried away from the trays of fertiliser. Sherlock met them outside and they ran down to Hagrid's hut, where Castiel was waiting for them. Hagrid greeted them at the door and ushered them in looking flushed and excited.

'Come in, it's nearly out,' he said.

The egg was rocking on the table, covered in deep cracks and something inside was making a funny clicking sound. They all drew up chairs and waited with bated breath. Suddenly the egg split open and the baby dragon flopped out. It wasn't exactly pretty, in fact it looked rather like a crumpled up umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its bony, black body. It sneezed, sending a shower of sparks everywhere and Castiel threw himself away from the table and pressed himself against the far wall.

'Isn't he  _beautiful_ ,' Hagrid murmured. He moved a finger towards it to pat its scaly head, but it snapped and bared its fangs.

'Bless him, look, he knows his mummy,' Hagrid said, clearly pleased. Castiel had gone white with terror and couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the dragon. Suddenly he wasn't the only one who looked terrified. Hagrid shot to the window and yanked open the curtains.

'Someone saw him, they're headed up to the castle,' he said. They all rushed to the door to peer out at the figure fleeing back up to the castle. There was no mistaking the slick blond hair gleaming in the sun.

'Malfoy,' Harry murmured.

 

Over the next week they spent as much time as they possibly could in Hagrid's, trying not to get singed.

'Just let him go, Hagrid,' Hermione urged. 'Set him free.'

'I can't. He's too little, he'll die,' Hagrid said sadly.

Meanwhile Sherlock and John were still puzzling over the source of John's exhaustion. Sherlock thought it must have something to do with the strange dreams John had mentioned, so one night he snuck up to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory and curled up at the end of John's bed.

'What are you doing?' John asked him.

'I'm going to watch you while you sleep to see if there are any physical symptoms of your insomnia,' Sherlock explained. John looked at him in disbelief for a moment.

'That sounds cool and everything- you now, lots of long words- but do you reckon you could try something a little less invasive and maybe asking? Where's Castiel anyway? Did you leave him in Ravenclaw Tower alone again?'

'No, he's staying in the hospital wing tonight, he's still trying to perfect his burn salve,' said Sherlock, choosing to ignore his earlier comments.

'Don't blame him really. All right, you can stay, but I swear, if you wake me up for no reason I will put every curse known to man on you,' John threatened, wrapping the covers around himself.

'If you two are going to talk all night, go downstairs and do it,' Ron's muffled voice grumbled from behind his curtains. John simply threw a cushion in Ron's general direction before settling down to sleep. Sherlock sat cross-legged on the end of the bed but quickly grew bored. He picked up a picture frame off of John's bedside table and squinted at it in the dim, flickering candlelight. It was a photograph of a couple and their two children. Sherlock stared at the man in military uniform and felt he looked familiar. He took in the soft curve of his nose and blond hair, then it hit him. This must be John's father. That would make the woman his mother and the little girl his sister. His eyes moved to the baby that must be John, his face squashed into a disdainful expression that suggested he was seconds away from screaming as loud as his tiny lungs would allow. Sherlock's expression softened as the present-day John snuffled in his sleep. He was just about to replace the photo on the table when he felt the back of the frame wobble slightly. He turned it over to have a look. The clasps were slightly rusty from lack of use. Sherlock carefully worked them loose and the back came fee, revealing the back of the photo and a piece of paper that read 'Connie' on it. All at once Sherlock felt like he was intruding on something private, and though it never affected him usually, this time he carefully replaced the letter and the back of the frame before putting it back on the table. Over the next hour he got tired a lot quicker than he thought he would and struggled to keep himself awake…

Sherlock bolted upright and looked around in confusion. The candle had burned itself out and the room was completely black. Quickly his eyes adjusted and he stared at the bed. Something was wrong but his half asleep mind refused to process what he was looking at. Slowly he realised what was missing- John. Sherlock scrambled to get off the bed and, in his haste, caught his ankle on the covers and crashed to the ground.

'Sherlock, what are you doing?' Harry said blearily.

'John's gone!' he gasped.

'Calm down, he probably just went to the bathroom. Why don't you go downstairs and wait for him?' he suggested. Sherlock nodded uncertainly and made his way downstairs. The fire had also burned out and there was a slight chill in the air. Sherlock curled up on the sofa and quickly fell back to sleep. When he woke the next morning, he found himself tangled up with several of John's limbs. He poked him and he stirred slightly.

'Sherlock? When did you get here?' John murmured sleepily

'I was here first,' said Sherlock, running both of his hands through his messy curls.

'Yes, I suppose you were,' he said.

Just then Hermione came down the stairs.

'Oh, hello you two. We're going down to Hagrid's for breakfast- want to come?' she asked, pulling on her shoes. John stretched his arms and yawned.

'Nah, I'm going to go find Castiel, see if he wants to come,' he said.

'I highly doubt he will,' Sherlock snorted. The dragon had grown three times in length since it had hatched, bitten Ron and given him a nasty infection, coughed sparks all over Castiel, singing his robes and Hagrid finally settled on the name 'Norbert'. Harry and Ron stamped down the stairs, Ron looking distinctly disgruntled.

'Coming to see the nutter with us?' he asked.

'Ron!' Hermione exclaimed reproachfully.

'Well he is! He's calling himself  _'Mummy'_ , he's keeping a  _dragon_ in his house, Hermione. What sane person does that?'

'Not to mention the Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment,' said Harry.

'Well Charlie's friends are coming to get him on Saturday, so unless Malfoy goes to Dumbledore before then, it should be fine,' John said.

'Yes except  _someone_ gave Charlie's letter to Malfoy, so he's probably going to be hanging around at the top of the tower waiting for them,' said Sherlock.

'But he doesn't know about the Cloak though, so that gives us an advantage,' Hermione said doubtfully.

'Stop it, Sherlock, you're scaring Hermione,' John scolded. Sherlock groaned loudly and Hermione flushed.

'He isn't,' she said indignantly.

'See? She's fine,' Sherlock grinned.

'Right,' John sighed. 'I'm going to get dressed and go find Castiel. Don't worry, Hermione, I'm sure everything will be ok,' he smiled encouragingly before disappearing up the stairs.

Finally Saturday came around and midnight found Sherlock pacing around the airy Ravenclaw common room while Castiel, wrapped in his trench coat, watched him nervously.

'I'm going to see what's going on,' Sherlock announced, striding towards the door.

'That's a really bad idea,' said Castiel. Sherlock stopped, his hand on the door.

'Yes it is. Are you coming?'

'Of course.'

Sherlock smiled as Castiel stood up and put his coat on properly.

They ran as quickly and quietly as they could up to the Astronomy tower. On the way up they ran past a window and Sherlock thought he saw a shadowy figure entering the Forest as he raced past, but when he looked again there was nothing there. They reached the foot of the spiral staircase that led up to the top of the tower, where they bumped into Harry and Hermione. Sherlock gaped at them in horror.

'Where's the Cloak?' he asked. They'd left it at the top of the tower! They turned back to retrieve it but it was too late. Filch's voice sounded gleefully from behind them.

'Well, well, well, we  _are_ in trouble.'


	10. The Forbidden Forest

The Forbidden Forest

Filch took them all down to Professor McGonagall’s study on the first floor where they sat and waited. Castiel was holding the sleeves of his coat to his mouth as if hoping to hide the panic that was spread across his face. After a moment he put an awkward arm around Hermione in an attempt to comfort her and stop her from trembling. It didn’t help much but Hermione was grateful for the gesture all the same, even if Castiel was several inches shorter than her. Sherlock was sitting poker straight until he turned his head towards Harry and hissed, ‘How could you be so stupid as to forget the Cloak?’

Harry opened his mouth to retort but Professor McGonagall walked in, dragging Neville with her.

‘Harry!’ Neville burst out the moment he saw them. ‘I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag-‘

Harry shook his head violently to make him shut up but Professor McGonagall saw him and she looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert.

‘I would never have believed it of any of you- well, maybe you, Holmes- Mr Filch says you were up the Astronomy Tower. It’s one o’ clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_ ,’ she fumed. None of them said anything. This was the first time Hermione had failed to answer a question from a teacher- she just stared down at her slippers.

‘I think I have an idea of what’s going on here,’ Professor McGonagall said. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Mr Malfoy some cock and bull story about a dragon to get him out of bed and into trouble. Well I’ve already caught him. I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?’

As a matter of fact, Sherlock _did_ find it highly amusing, although now was perhaps not the most appropriate time to mention it.

‘I’m disgusted,’ Professor McGonagall continued. ‘I’d have thought you and Mr Edlund had more sense, Miss Granger. I’ve never heard of such a thing before! Six students out of bed in one night! I thought your houses meant more to you than this. All of you will receive detention- _nothing_ gives you the right to walk about the school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous- and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.’

‘ _Fifty?’_ Harry gasped. Gryffindor would lose the lead they had won in the last Quidditch match.

‘Fifty points _each_ ,’ she barked.

‘Professor please-‘

‘You _can’t_ -‘

‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Never have I been more disappointed and shocked at the behaviour of first-year students. Now, go back to your dormitories immediately and this will not happen again.’

Making their way miserably up the stairs, they reflected on how bad things were looking. Ravenclaw had lost one hundred points and Gryffindor one hundred and fifty. None of them got much sleep.

At first people walking past the giant hourglasses thought it must be some kind of joke- how could two houses have lost so many points in one night? And then the story spread: the famous Harry Potter had lost them all the points they had won in the last Quidditch match- him and some other stupid first-years. Everyone went around pointing and glaring at them, not troubling to lower their voices as they insulted them all through the corridors. Tensions were strained between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw as each blamed each other for their first-years. The Hufflepuffs refused to take sides but hated the both of them equally. The whole school had been looking forward to seeing Slytherin lose the House Cup at last. The Slytherins, however, were quite pleased with the turn of events and went about cheering and applauding, saying things like, ‘Nice one, Potter, we owe you one’. Thankfully Ron and John stood by them and when they were all together it was almost easy to ignore the jeering, especially as Sherlock treated it as a minor inconvenience.

‘Cheer up, Fred and George have lost loads of points before and they’ve always forgiven them,’ Ron said bracingly one day.

‘They’ve never lost two hundred and fifty points at once before though,’ Harry said miserably. Ron grimaced.

‘Gabriel got close once,’ Castiel piped up. The past few days had been especially taxing on Castiel’s nervous disposition and he had been refusing to leave the hospital wing except for lessons and only if he was accompanied by Sherlock. They were all in there now, keeping him company and having a respite from the glares of their fellow students.

‘Really? What did he do?’ Hermione asked curiously. Castiel smiled slightly.

‘In his second year, he played a trick on our cousin Anna and accidentally set the whole fourth floor on fire. Professor McGonagall was furious. She took a hundred points from Hufflepuff and sent him home for a week,’ he told them. It was hard to imagine Gabriel doing something so ridiculously reckless, but it made them giggle nevertheless.

Now that the exams were practically upon them, they were glad that they could spend their time buried in books rather than in the view of the rest of the school and Harry made a resolution to stop meddling in things that didn’t concern him. Sherlock made no such resolution and continued to follow Lucy whenever possible and to try unsuccessfully to watch John while he was sleeping.

About a week before the exams were due to start, Sherlock followed her up to the Owlery, sneaking around and hiding in shadowy corners until she settled near a window and leaned on the sill, shaking in anticipation, tapping her hands and feet impatiently. Then a large, tattered-looking screech owl flapped up in front of her with a note tied to its leg. As she untied it, the owl pecked at her viciously, but she didn’t seem to notice, even as blood dripped from her fingers. Her eyes raked through the letter, looking for something. Clearly she didn’t find it as her eyes filled with tears.  For a moment she looked like she might disintegrate into despairing sobs, but instead she brushed the water from her eyes and Sherlock could see the rage boiling up inside her. Her face twisted into a snarl and her hands shook so much she could barely keep hold of the letter. Suddenly she ripped the letter to shreds and screamed as loudly as she could, lashing out at the owl. It made a half-hearted attempt at her hand before fleeing for its feathery life. As soon as the pieces of parchment fluttered to the ground, Lucy yelled, ‘ _Incendio!’_ at them, setting the room ablaze. Lucy screamed again while the owls hooted and flew past her away from the fire. Breathing heavily, she surveyed the destruction around her and her face became a mask of icy calm. She pointed her wand ant the flames and said, ‘ _Aguamenti’_ and put everything out, leaving the Owlery in a cloud of black smoke. As soon as Sherlock was sure she was gone he crawled along the floor in search of anything, _anything,_ that could be used as evidence, but unfortunately every bit of parchment had been burnt to a crisp. He groaned and stood up, brushing down his robes before running back up to the hospital wing where Ron and Hermione were studying with Castiel and John was sleeping soundly on the bed. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t particularly pleased with them using the hospital to study but as far as she was concerned, as long as John was getting some rest and Castiel was safe, then it was fine by her. Sherlock sat down by Hermione and John twitched in his sleep.

‘Any luck- why do you smell like smoke?’ Hermione asked suspiciously.

‘It doesn’t matter. Where’s Harry?’

‘Dunno, I think he went for a walk or something,’ Ron answered. ‘Look, Hermione, I’m never going to remember all the stars in Orion-‘

At that moment Harry re-entered the room and told them all about the encounter he’d just had with Professor Quirrell.

‘Snape’s done it then!’ cried Ron. ‘If he’s broken through Quirrell’s Anti-Dark Force spell…’

‘There’s still Fluffy though,’ said Hermione.

‘Yeah, but for how long?’ Harry frowned.

‘Yeah, I bet there’s a book in the library somewhere about three-headed dogs-‘

‘There are no books in the library about three-headed dogs,’ Sherlock cut him off.

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve read every book in the library.’

‘You have not! I’ve never even seen you with a library book.’

‘Well clearly you weren’t looking hard enough.’

‘Enough!’ Castiel said exasperatedly. ‘The question is, what do we do now?’

Ron’s eyes lit up at the thought of adventure but Hermione answered first.

‘We go to Dumbledore,’ she said, ‘like we should have done ages ago.’

‘With what proof? Quirrell doesn’t seem very likely to back us up, the man’s afraid of his own shadow,’ said Sherlock.

‘And it’s not like Snape will just confess. Al he’s got to say is that he doesn’t know how the troll got in at Hallowe’en and then it’s his word against ours,’ Harry said.

‘Not to mention the fact that we’re not supposed to know about Fluffy or the Stone, we’d have a hard time explaining that,’ Sherlock added.

‘If we just did some poking around-‘

‘No,’ Harry said firmly. ‘We’ve done enough poking around.’

He pulled a map of Jupiter towards him to learn the names of its moons, and for a moment everything was quiet until John started mumbling in his sleep and rolling around in distress. Sherlock climbed over and started trying to shake him awake.

‘John!’ he said loudly. ‘Wake up, you’re having a nightmare!’

John’s eyes flew open.

‘Devil’s Snare!’ he gasped, looking around wildly.

‘What?’

‘What?’

‘You said “Devil’s Snare”,’ Sherlock told him.

‘I did?’

Sherlock nodded. John shrugged.

‘We learned about it in our last Herbology lesson. It’s a scary plant.’

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, Neville and Sherlock at the breakfast table, presumably Castiel had received his in the hospital wing. They were all the same.

_Your detention will take place at eleven o’ clock tonight. Meet_

_Mr Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Prof. M. Mcgonagall_

Harry had forgotten about their detention in the fallout over all the points they had lost and, judging by the look on his face when they met up with him, Castiel had certainly hoped that McGonagall had forgotten.

At eleven o’ clock that night, Harry, Hermione and Neville said goodbye to Ron and met Sherlock and Castiel in the Entrance Hall. Filch was already there with Malfoy.

‘Follow me,’ said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. ‘Bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule now, eh?’ he continued, leering at them. ‘Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me-‘

‘Yes well no one _did_ ask you, did they?’ Sherlock said.

‘Not really the time, Sherlock-‘

‘You want to watch yourself, boy. It’s a pity they let the old punishments die out. Time was if you spoke that way to any of your authorities you’d be hanging by your thumbs in the dungeons, I’ve got the chains in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed… Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, or it’ll be the worst for you if you do.’

They marched off into the darkened grounds. Harry could feel Castiel shaking beside him and when he glanced over, he had his arms close to his chest and he was playing with his hands nervously.

‘It’s all right,’ Harry whispered to him encouragingly.

The moon was bright and the grounds were bathed in a silvery light that would have been beautiful if any of them had been paying attention. Ahead, they could see the light of Hagrid’s hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

‘Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.’

Relief spread through Harry; if they were going to be doing their detention with Hagrid then it wouldn’t be so bad. Castiel wasn’t so reassured, having spent more than enough time with Hagrid to know exactly how lenient his definition of danger was, but it was better than nothing. Their relief must have shown, because Filch said, ‘I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well think again, it’s into the Forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.’

At this Castiel and Neville let out small squeaks and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

‘The Forest?’ he repeated, not sounding quite as cool as usual. ‘We can’t go in there at night, there’s all sorts of things in there- werewolves, I heard.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, there aren’t any werewolves- just centaurs, Acromantula, a few unicorns- that sort of thing,’ he said, picking up the pace, eyes shining at the prospect of doing something so interesting and dangerous.

Hagrid strode out of his cabin sporting a large crossbow and a quiver of arrows slung across his back.

‘Abou’ time,’ he said grumpily. ‘All righ’ you lot?’

‘Don’t be too friendly with ‘em, Hagrid. They’re here to be punished,’ Filch said. Hagrid frowned at him.

‘That’s wy yer so late, is it? Benn lecturin’ ‘em? ‘Snot yer place ter do that.’

‘I’ll be back at dawn,’ Filch said. ‘For what’s left of ‘em,’ he added nastily, heading back to the castle.

Malfoy turned to Hagrid.

‘I am not going in that forest.’

Sherlock had to hold his breath to stop himself from laughing at the note of panic that had crept into Malfoy’s voice.

‘Yeh are if yer want ter stay at Hogwarts,’ said Hagrid fiercly. ‘Yeh’ve done wrong and now yer have ter pay fer it.’

‘This is servants’ stuff; it’s not for students to do- I thought we’d be writing lines or something. When my father hears about this-‘

‘He’ll tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,’ Hagrid growled. ‘Writin’ lines, what good’s  that ter anyone? But if you think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then you’d best get back up to the castle and pack. Go on!’

Malfoy glared at him furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

‘Right then,’ Hagrid continued. ‘Listen carefully ‘cause what we’re doing tonight’s dangerous and I don’t want no one takin’ any risks, now, follow me over here.’

He led them right up to the edge of the Forest and pointed at the ground.

‘See that silvery stuff there? That’s unicorn blood.’

Sherlock knelt down ad dipped his finger in it, eyes wide with fascination.

‘It’s been hurt bad by summat and it’s our job to ter try and find the poor beast and put him out of his misery if we have ter,’ Hagrid explained.

‘But what if the thing that hurt it finds us first,’ Malfoy asked fearfully.

‘There’s nothing in that forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang.’

‘I want Fang,’ Malfoy said, eyeing the dog’s huge canine teeth.

‘All righ’ but I’m warnin’ yeh, he’s a bloody coward. Righ’ we’re gonna split inter three groups and follow the trails. Poor thing must’ve been staggerin’ about since las’ nigh’ at least. Harry and Hermione with me, Neville and Draco go that way an’ Sherlock and Castiel can go that way over there. Those two trails are quite close tergether, so Fang’ll walk between yeh. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn we’ll send up red sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now- that’s it- an’ if anyone gets inter trouble, send up some red sparks an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh- so, be careful- let’s go.’

He handed Sherlock and Draco a lamp each before heading off.

The Forest was pitch black and Sherlock watched Hagrid, Harry and Hermione disappear in one direction and Neville and Malfoy in another. Sherlock felt a thrill of excitement bolt through him. It wasn’t often a first-year student had the opportunity to explore the Forbidden Forest, _with permission_ , so he headed quickly into the trees, barely remembering to shine the lamp at the ground. Castiel followed behind him, positively stiff with fear. They walked along the trail of silvery blood, the trees pressing in around them. For a while they could hear the sound of Fang loping along beside them and Neville’s distant sniffling, but eventually all sound died out except for the faint breeze swishing through the tops of the trees. They kept walking and started seeing clumps of silver strands draped over low hanging branches and small bushes. Sherlock picked some up gently between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Unicorn hair,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘Wh- what do you think is getting them?’ Castiel stuttered.

‘Nothing indigenous to this forest,’ said Sherlock. ‘It’s incredibly difficult to catch a unicorn and nothing in here is fast enough.’

‘So it’s something else altogether,’ Castiel shivered. Then they heard something that made their spines tingle. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby; it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Sherlock threw out an arm to stop Castiel from walking on and squinted through the darkness to try and see what ws making the noise. It faded away and Sherlock sighed in disappointment. Castiel mimicked him, only in a completely different tone. His knees gave way and he sunk to the ground. This was far too much for him. He wasn’t brave like Harryor indifferent like Sherlock, who was currently pulling him to his feet.

‘It’s all right, Castiel, Fang’s nearby- nothing will harm us,’ he said. Suddenly a shower of red sparks flew into the air and Castiel gasped loudly and gripped Sherlock’s arm, but neither of them moved to see what was going on, after all what possible use could they be in the dark Forest full of dangerous creatures and at least one unknown thing? Before they could decide what they should do, the pounding of many hooves descended on them and a herd of centaurs surrounded them.

‘What are you doing in here?’ a centaur with a smooth, chestnut body and long, black hair demanded, moving away from the bulk of the herd to stand in front of them.

 

‘It’s all right, Magorian, they must be with Hagrid,’ another centaur with red hair and a beard said, joining him in front of the two boys.

‘Even so, there are enough humans in the Forest tonight, they are creating disturbances,’ Magorian said irritably.

‘Trust me, it’s not us, you must have seen the-‘

Whatever the rest of Sherlock’s sentence was going to be was lost as a figure emerged from between the two chestnut-bodied centaurs. His blond hair was ruffled and he was still in his pyjamas.

‘John?’ Sherlock said uncertainly. It was the first time all night that he sounded scared. He was also right, it was indeed John. He moved closer to the light of Sherlock’s lamp, who noticed that his eyes had turned milky white.

‘John, what are you doing here?’ Castiel asked him, but Sherlock said nothing, knowing, for once, when to keep his mouth shut. John looked up at Sherlock’s face and then up at the night sky.

‘Mars is bright tonight,’ he said slowly.

‘How dare you speak to him?’ Magorian said furiously. ‘Leave at once or-‘

‘Magorian, wait!’ the other centaur said. ‘They’re friends of his, what if one of them is the one we’re looking for?’

‘One of them may well be, Ronan, but we can’t wait for him to present himself, they’re already disturbing him,’ Magorian pressed.

‘Why is John here and not in bed?’ Sherlock asked suspiciously. ‘Centaurs think that humans are below them, so why would they want one that hasn’t even reached manhood yet?’

‘It is not your place to question our ways,’ Magorian frowned haughtily.

‘It is when it concerns one of my herd,’ Sherlock said, folding his arms. Castiel glanced at him in confusion, but knew better than to question him at this precise point in time.

‘You know a little of our culture,’ said Ronan.

‘Of course. Centaurs are far superior to humans, so natural I had to know as much as I possibly could,’ Sherlock replied. Now Castiel could see what Sherlock was up to. Clearly centaurs responded to flattery. John still had his white eyes tilted towards the stars and they could hear Hagrid’s voice in the distance.

‘Then perhaps you know one of our most ancient prophecies, concerning the Oracle,’ Magorian challenged.

‘Of course, but you can’t possibly think- not John?’ Sherlock said, looking shocked.

‘Sherlock, what is it?’ Castiel whispered.

‘It is none of your concern, human!’ Magorian shouted, almost involuntarily. Sherlock ignored him.

‘A few centuries ago, some centaur elders prophecised the arrival of the greatest Seer the world has ever seen. Centaur prophecies are generally quite accurate- if you believe in that sort of thing- especially if many of them predict the same thing. They called the Seer ‘The Oracle’ and they believe that he will lead the centaurs in a great battle for the Ancient Lands. I don’t think they counted on him being human, though,’ Sherlock explained.

‘How do you know all that?’ Castiel gaped. Sherlock shrugged.

‘There are plenty of books about centaurs in the library. Most of them no one’s even read. Even if John is the Oracle, you can’t seriously think he would lead an army against his own kind?’ Sherlock asked Ronan.

‘We shall see,’ he replied. ‘I am impressed. If you know this much then maybe you have also heard the saying that goes along with it.’

Sherlock’s eyes sharpened at the hint of new information. Castiel had relaxed somewhat, even though he was still pretty scared at least he knew what he was dealing with, and at least Sherlock new how to handle them; so he watched John carefully. He was swaying slightly and there was a certain eerie quality to him and Castiel was suddenly fervently hoping he wouldn’t catch John’s blank white eyes that knew things far beyond his years- and he felt that the centaurs must be right about him being the Oracle. The trees had stilled themselves and it would have been deathly silent if not for the centaurs pounding their hooves around them.

‘I don’t believe I’ve had the honour,’ Sherlock was saying. Another centaur stepped forward, this one black-haired and wild-looking.

‘Enough, Ronan, we’ve already said too much,’ he said. ‘We have much to teach the Oracle. Send them back to Hagrid and let us go.’

‘Oh! I see!’ Sherlock exclaimed, eyes alight with interest and glee. ‘His dreams that he can never remember, why he’s so tired all the time, all of it is you! You’ve been bringing him down here to teach him how to read the stars. I assume you’ve been using an ancient centaur magic that hasn’t been used in so long that no one knows how to guard against it. What doesn’t make sense is why you make him forget… Why do you make him forget?’

The centaurs glanced at each other, torn between outrage and begrudging awe. Finally, Ronan smiled.

‘He must be the one. Though we do not concern ourselves with the affairs of humans but I think we must prepare ourselves for I believe these will one day involve us,’ he said. The other centaurs agreed, if a little reluctantly.

‘What is your name, youngling?’ Ronan asked gently.

‘I am Sherlock Holmes and you haven’t answered my question,’ Sherlock replied. Castiel kept as still as he possibly could, they seemed to have forgotten he was there.

‘You’re right, but he hasn’t forgotten- not completely. He will remember when he needs to,’ Ronan told him. ‘Which reminds me- you must not tell him of what you have learned tonight. He is not yet ready and he must discover his destiny for himself.’

‘Yes, I see, but is it really necessary to take him every night? He still has to go to school,’ Sherlock said.

‘He has much to learn and a wizard’s magic takes too much time and energy. He has no need for it,’ Magorian barked. Sherlock approached John and waved a hand in front of his face.

‘I think he would disagree, even if he didn’t being up all day and all night isn’t good for him. He doesn’t have the strength of a centaur- in fact he barely has the strength of a human,’ Sherlock reasoned. ‘John? Can you hear me?’

John slowly looked down and turned his pale eyes onto Sherlock. It felt as if John was gazing straight through him. The atmosphere sharpened considerably as everyone stared at John. The centaurs waited with bated breath- it seemed that something was about to happen. John opened his mouth.

‘Sherlock,’ he said plainly. The centaurs cheered loudly and stamped their hooves in celebration. Apparently John saying Sherlock’s name was a good thing. When the cheering died down, Ronan faced Sherlock.

‘Another prophecy went with the one about the Oracle. It is said that with the one with the power to See comes the one with the power to Observe. Those two are said to be intrinsically linked and we have been searching for him ever since we discovered the Oracle. We’ve know the little one for several months now and not once has he spoken any of our names,’ he explained.

‘So it’s me because he said my name?’ Sherlock said sceptically. ‘My point still stands- he’s not strong enough to keep doing this.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ Ronan said. ‘After all, he will be at school for another six years. What do think?’ he asked the other centaurs. Most of them agreed but Magorian didn’t seem pleased.

‘We must keep him here. We must teach him,’ he said hotly.

‘He’s just a foal, Magorian. If the Observant One says that he can’t handle it, then we must honour his wishes,’ Ronan chastised him.

‘He is ours by right to take-‘

‘But he must also keep his own will. Enough, Magorian, he is not a centaur,’ the centaur with black hair interrupted. ‘Come, we must find Firenze. You may follow us until you find Hagrid and we will send the Oracle back at dawn.’

With that they set off at a gallop, all except a few who stayed to take care of John.

‘Well they were surprisingly reasonable,’ Sherlock chuckled.

They left a path that was easy to follow, so Sherlock shone his lamp down the path and he and Castiel followed it until they heard Hagrid and Hermione calling for them.

‘Hagrid!’ Castiel shouted. ‘We’re over here!’

Hagrid crashed through the undergrowth to their right.

‘Yer all righ’,’ he gasped.

‘Of course we are. We had Fang,’ Sherlock smirked.

‘Malfoy left Harry on his own, so we have to find him,’ Hermione told them. Sherlock glared at Malfoy and they ran off in the direction that Malfoy pointed them in, before he bolted back up to the castle. After a while they thought they’d never find him, but finally they came across him on the back of a palomino centaur with white-blond hair.

‘Harry! Are you all right?’ Hermione exclaimed, running towards him. Sherlock and Castiel followed with Hagrid and Neville puffing behind them.

‘I’m fine,’ Harry said, looking dazed and pale. ‘The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in the clearing back there.’

‘Are you Firenze?’  Sherlock muttered to the centaur.

‘I am,’ he murmured back.

‘Your herd are looking for you.’

‘I am aware. This is where I leave you, Harry Potter. You are safe now.’

Harry slid off his back.

‘Good luck. The planets have been read wrongly before, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.’

He turned and cantered back the way they’d come. Harry was shivering violently.

‘What’s wrong?’ Castiel asked him concernedly.

‘Nothing. I’ll explain when we get back.’

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. They shook him awake and he shouted something about Quidditch foul while Neville crept upstairs to bed. Ron was wide-eyed enough when they began to tell him what had happened.

‘Hang on, let me get John,’ Ron said.

‘He’s not up there, he’s still on his way back up from the Forest,’ Sherlock told them.

‘What? Why?’

‘The centaurs think he’s this thing called The Oracle, so they summon him to them with their own magic,’ Sherlock explained. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

‘What’s an Oracle?’ Ron asked.

‘Not _an_ Oracle- _the_ Oracle,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s the most powerful Seer that has or ever will be. I read in a book that the Oracle can see- well, _everything_.’

‘Yeas but we can’t tell him, he needs to find out himself,’ Castiel reminded Sherlock.

‘ _Wow_ ,’ Hermione murmured. At that moment the portrait hole opened and John shuffled in. They all stared at him. Sherlock noticed that his eyes were no longer milky and piercing, but they were half closed, which suggested that whatever spell he was under was still taking effect. They watched him walk over and he lay down across Ron. Ron grunted and pushed him off. Hermione winced as he crashed to the ground. He sat up and rubbed his head.

‘Oh, hey, you’re back. How did it go?’ he asked.

‘Harry was just about to tell us,’ Ron said.

‘Voldemort’s in the Forest, feeding on the unicorns to keep himself alive. I saw him and he tried to kill me. I would have been toast if Firenze hadn’t saved me,’ Harry said. He stood up and started pacing up and down in front of the fire anxiously. He was still shaking.

‘Who’s Firenze?’  Ron asked.

‘He’s a centaur,’ Hermione told him.

‘Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort’s waiting in the Forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…’

‘Stop saying the name!’ said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought that Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn’t listening.

‘The centaurs were furious about Firenze saving me. One called Bane said that he was interfering with whatever the planets say is supposed to happen.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘And Voldemort’s just out there waiting for Snape to get him the Stone and then he’ll be able to come back and finish me off.’

Everyone but John and Sherlock looked very frightened.

‘Everyone says Dumbledore’s the only one that You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, he can’t touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me and Professor McGonagall says that’s a very imprecise branch of magic,’ Hermione reassured. John was very confused, though he supposed he’d be able to work it out when he was less tired.

The sky was light when they finally finished talking and they decided to go to bed. Sherlock and Castiel fells asleep in front of the fire, where they had convoluted dreams of their own.


	11. Through the Trapdoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really long chapter so please make sure you're comfortable and you have a cup of tea or something.

Through the Trapdoor

 Finally, their exams arrived and no one had any idea how they managed to get through them. At last they had the opportunity to concentrate on something normal for a change, yet they found themselves worrying about how long it would take Voldemort to come bursting into the school. Sherlock spent almost no energy on the exams at all, instead using his revision time studying numerous star charts and maps of the solar system. John found out and became very suspicious.

‘Why are you suddenly so interested in Astronomy? You’ve been avoiding it all year.’

Sherlock hesitated; he wondered what he could say to John without accidentally revealing what he knew.

‘The centaurs kept saying “Mars is bright tonight” and I’m trying to figure out what it means,’ he said carefully.

‘Oh, well you’d need Astrology for that,’ he said. Sherlock groaned loudly. John chuckled at him.

‘Hang on; I think I’ve got something…’

John dug through his bag and pulled out a book bound in rich, black velvet with gold lettering. _The Stars and Their Symbolism: How it Affects You._ Sherlock stared at it.

‘Why do you have a book about Astrology in your bag?’ he asked.

‘Why do you have a box of flesh-eating slugs in _your_ bag?’ John countered, flipping through the pages.

‘Aha, here we are- “Mars, the bringer of battle: Mars is a common sight in the night sky as skirmishes and petty arguments are a constant, however it can be seen shining brightly in the months and years before massive wars and battles that divide a large or influential population.” _A great war is coming and this is just the beginning,’_ John whispered. Sherlock grimaced and immediately stuffed John’s book out of sight.

‘Doesn’t sound like much fun- come on, it’s Transfiguration now,’ he said, packing away his star charts.

Harry was growing ever more agitated, his scar prickling painfully. It only made things worse that people kept telling him to visit Madam Pomfrey.

The days slipped by until, at last, the only exam that remained was History of Magic. Sherlock sat in the classroom with the rest of the Ravenclaws and flicked bits of parchment at the back of Padma Patil’s head, having finished the exam within fifteen minutes of the allotted hour. She turned and glared at him but quickly went back to her exam in case Professor Binns saw her. Sherlock sneaked a glance at Castiel’s paper beside him. He was still working furiously even though he had already finished, it looked like he was being extremely thorough and adding extensions to every answer.

Finally, the exam was over and a few of the students cheered and cleared the room. Sherlock shouldered his bag.

‘Come on, let’s go outside, they’ll be waiting for us.’

The corridors were flooded with students trying to get out into the sun and it took them what felt like hours to push through the crowds to the Entrance Hall, where they bumped into Gabriel. He grinned widely at them.

‘Hey, bro! Just finished your exams?’ he asked. Castiel smiled.

‘Yes we did,’ he said. ‘History of Magic was our last one.’

‘Cool, how did it go?’

‘I think it went all right,’ Castiel said shyly.

‘I’m sure you did great, kiddo,’ Gabriel grinned. ‘I gotta go- still got a Charms exam. Have a great day.’

With that, he set off towards Professor McGonagall’s classroom. They continued to push onward until they found the Gryffindors lying under a tree by the lake. The Weasley twins could be seen tickling the tentacles of the giant squid while a couple of other kids threw bits of toast and pie crusts to it. Ron was sprawled on the ground and John had his feet dangling in the water. Sherlock and Castiel sat with them and Ron sighed happily.

‘No more revision,’ he said, completely ignoring Hermione babbling about the exams- she always liked to go through them afterwards.

‘You could look a bit more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we did, there’s no need to worry yet,’ Ron said. Harry rubbed his forehead.

‘I wish I knew what this _means_ ,’ he burst out angrily. ‘My scar keeps hurting… It’s happened before but not like this.’

‘Go to Madam Pomfrey,’ Hermione suggested once again.

‘For the last time, Hermione, I’m not ill,’ Harry said irritably. ‘I think it’s a warning… it means danger’s coming…’

Ron was too hot to get worked up- but he was the only- everyone else was worried, though Hermione more for Harry’s health.

‘Harry, relax, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof that Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down,’ Ron said lazily.

‘But if he’s determined enough to get the Stone, then surely he’ll find a way,’ John frowned. Sherlock looked over at him and could tell that something was bothering him.

‘What is it?’ Sherlock asked him. John shook his head.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s something.’

John sighed.

‘This is going to sound weird, but I don’t think Snape _is_ trying to get the Stone, I mean, we’ve never actually heard him _say_ he wants it,’ he said shyly. Ron made a face.

‘John’s got a point,’ Harry said, ‘but it makes no difference. We know that _someone_ is trying to steal it, otherwise Voldemort wouldn’t be hiding out in the Forest- it’s not exactly the safest place for him to be.’

‘I suppose, but who else could it be?’ Hermione said.

‘I don’t know… Does anyone else feel like they’re forgetting something?’ Harry asked.

‘That’s just the exams,’ said Hermione. ‘Last night I woke up and was half way through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we’d already done that one.’

But Harry couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling, nor could Sherlock figure out whether John was using his brain for once, or if it was an effect of being a powerful Seer. Either way he was doubting himself, and he didn’t like it.

Suddenly Harry jumped up and all the colour drained from his face.

‘Where’re you going?’ Ron said sleepily.

‘I’ve just thought of something,’ said Harry. ‘We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.’

‘Why? What is it?’ Sherlock asked, jumping to his feet.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,’ Harry said, scrambling up the grassy slope, ‘that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up and just happens to have one? How many people just wander around with dragon eggs in their pocket if it’s against wizarding law? Lucky they found Hagrid don’t you think?’

Comprehension dawned on Sherlock’s face.

‘Oh!’ he gasped. ‘No, you’re _joking_!’

Harry shook his head and sprinted across the grounds, almost leaving the others and their mystified expressions behind.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house, shelling peas into a large bowl.

‘Hullo,’ he smiled. ‘Finished yer exams? Got time fer a cup o’ tea?’

Castiel asked to try some of the peas and Hagrid gestured for him to continue.

‘After me own heart,’ he said. ‘Always got ter appreciate the veggies.’

‘Hagrid, listen, we need to ask you something. You know the night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?’ said Harry.

‘I dunno what he looked like, he wouldn’t take his cloak off.’

Stunned expressions crossed all of their faces and Castiel choked on a handful of peas. Hagrid hastily slapped him on the back and he went sprawling across the ground. John went over and helped him up.

‘It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head- that’s the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up,’ Hagrid said defensively. Sherlock groaned and Castiel rubbed his face. Harry looked at him desperately.

‘What did he talk to you about? Did he mention Hogwarts at all?’ he asked.

‘Mighta come up,’ said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. ‘Yeah, he asked me what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after; so I told him an’ I said what I’d always wanted was a dragon… an’ then- I can’ remember too well, ‘cause he kept buyin’ me drinks… Let’s see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted, but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go to any old home, so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…’

‘And did he- did he seem interested in Fluffy?’ Harry asked. John could hear him trying to keep his voice calm and started subconsciously chewing on is fingernails.

‘Well- yeah- how many three-headed dogs do you come across, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music and he’ll go straight off ter sleep-‘

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

‘I shouldn’ta told yeh that!’ he blurted out. ‘Forget I said it! Hey- where’re yeh goin’?’

They came skidding to a halt in the Entrance Hall and waited for John and Castiel to catch up with their small legs. Castiel had turned a pale shade of grey- the thought of Voldemort returning terrifying him more than anything.

‘We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,’ Harry gasped between breaths. ‘Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that hood- it must have been easy once he’d got Hagrid drunk.’

‘I just hope Dumbledore believes us,’ John said uneasily.

‘Firenze might back us up if Bane lets him.’

‘I doubt it,’ Sherlock frowned.

‘Oh, what do you know?’ Ron said to Sherlock scathingly.

‘Evidently a lot more than you-‘

‘Hey! Focus! Where’s Dumbledore’s office?’ Harry cut in. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but a voice rang across the hall.

‘What are you all doing inside?’

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

‘Shouldn’t you be outside with everyone else? Mr Edlund, you look awful, what is the matter?’

‘We want to see Professor Dumbledore,’ Hermione said rather bravely.

‘See Professor Dumbledore?’ Professor McGonagall repeated, as if this was something suspicious. ‘Why? What did Holmes do now?’

Sherlock made a small noise of outrage but Harry quickly spoke over him.

‘It’s sort of a secret,’ he said, immediately knowing that it was the wrong choice as Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

‘Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,’ she said coldly. ‘He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.’

‘He’s _gone_?’ Harry said frantically. ‘ _Now_?’

‘Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time.’

Sherlock started tapping his foot impatiently.

‘But this important,’ Harry continued.

‘Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?’

‘Well, it’s not like they do anything useful,’ Sherlock muttered under his breath.  Harry spoke over him again.

‘Look, Professor- it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone-‘

Professor McGonagall dropped all of her books in shock but made no move to pick them up.

‘How do you know-?’ she spluttered.

‘Professor, we think- _we know_ \- that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone. We’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.’

She eyed them with a mixture of shock and suspicion. They waited to see what she would say. Finally she slowly said, ‘Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow. I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.’

‘But Professor-‘

‘Potter, I know what I’m talking about,’ she said sharply. She bent down to gather up her books and Castiel scrambled to help her. ‘I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine- thank you, Mr Edlund.’

As soon as she was out of earshot, Harry turned to the others.

‘It’s tonight. Snape’s going to try and get through the trapdoor tonight-‘

‘ _If_ it’s Snape.’

‘Of course it’s Snape, who else is foul enough to be working for You-Know-Who?’ Ron said.

‘ _Someone_ has found out everything they need and now with Dumbledore out of the way…’ Harry pressed.

‘Whoever it was must have sent the owl to Dumbledore. The Ministry will have a bit of a shock when he turns up,’ Sherlock added.

‘Good afternoon,’ someone said smoothly. They wheeled around to see Snape standing over them.

‘You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this; people will think you’re up to something. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw really can’t afford to lose any more points, can they?’

He turned to leave but then stopped.

‘Be warned, Potter- any more night-time wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.’

He strode off in the direction of the staff room and Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his retreating form.

‘Mature,’ John snorted.

‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do,’ Harry whispered urgently. ‘One of us had better keep an eye on Snape- wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you’d better do that.’

‘Why me?’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Ron. ‘You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick.’

He put on a high voice, ‘Oh, Professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong…’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Hermione said, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

‘John and I will go to the Owlery, we’ll send a message to Dumbledore. Castiel, you go with Hermione,’ Sherlock said.

‘All right, well then we’d better stay outside the third floor corridor,’ Harry said to Ron. ‘Let’s go.’

They split up, Sherlock and John making their way up to the Owlery.

‘Why’d you make Castiel go with Hermione?’ John asked.

‘He seems to be less scared around her- or covers it up better. I think he’s become rather protective,’ Sherlock smirked.

They arrived and after a moment of rummaging around for a quill and some parchment, Sherlock called down a well groomed tawny owl.

‘Come here, Greg,’ Sherlock said to it. He caught the look on John’s face. ‘He’s Mycroft’s owl. He named him after his best friend.’

‘Oh, I see,’ John said, struggling to keep a straight face. Sherlock attached the note to Greg’s leg and threw him unceremoniously from the window. He flapped back up, hooted at Sherlock in annoyance and flew off.

They made their way to the portrait of the Fat Lady where they found Castiel waiting politely outside.

‘You might as well come in,’ John said. They climbed in just as Harry, Ron and Hermione were discussing how they would all get to the third floor.

‘I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,’ Harry was saying. ‘It’s just lucky I got it back.’         

‘But will it cover all three of us?’ Ron asked.

‘Well, it certainly won’t cover all six of us,’ Sherlock interrupted.

‘All- all six of us?’

‘Oh, come off it, you don’t think we’d let you go alone?’

‘Of course not,’ Hermione said briskly. ‘How do you think you’d get the Stone without us? I’d better go look through my books; there might be something useful…’

‘But if we get caught, you’ll be expelled, too.’

‘They’re just looking for a reason to expel me anyway, at least this way I get kicked out for something interesting,’ Sherlock shrugged.

‘They won’t expel me,’ Hermione said grimly. ‘Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.’

‘The question is, how are we going to get there?’ John asked. ‘We won’t all fit under the Cloak.’

‘Well we’ll have to go in groups. Three of us will fit under it, four of we’re smart about it,’ Sherlock said, glancing at Castiel.

‘Sherlock, John and I will go first,’ Castiel said, catching Sherlock’s eye. ‘I can bring the Cloak back and as I’m the smallest, the four of us will fit.’

He still looked very frightened but a determined glint had entered his eye.

‘You don’t have to,’ Hermione offered.

‘It’s the clearest path and I’m glad to help. I would also like to offer my skills to help you break through the obstacles,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ Sherlock said brightly. ‘When we get there, we’ll hide and wait for you.’

They convinced Castiel to join them at dinner, where Lucy watched him intently. Afterwards, they all went back up to Gryffindor Tower, where they sat, nervously waiting for the common room to empty.

‘Better get the Cloak,’ Ron muttered as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran up to the dormitory and came back down again with the silvery Cloak in his arms.

‘You’d better put it on in here, so we can make sure it covers all three of you- if Filch spots one of your feet wandering around on its own-‘

‘What are you doing?’ said a voice from the corner of the room. ‘Why are you two still here?’

Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad.

‘Nothing, Neville,’ said Harry, hastily putting the Cloak behind his back, but their guilty faces would have fooled no one.

‘You’re going out again, he said suspiciously. Castiel shuffled his feet, not meeting Neville’s eyes.

‘No, no!’ Hermione said. ‘No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, they were wasting time.

‘You can’t go out,’ said Neville, ‘you’ll get caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.’

‘But, Neville, this is important,’ John said.

‘I won’t let you do it,’ he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole and dropping Trevor, who hopped happily away. ‘I’ll- I’ll fight you!’

‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ Sherlock said, pulling out his wand. ‘ _Petrificus Totalus_!’ he cried, pointing it at Neville. His arms snapped to his sides, his legs sprang together, his whole body went rigid. He swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

‘ _Sherlock_!’ John cried indignantly, hurrying to turn Neville over.

‘What? He was in the way!’

Neville’s jaws were clamped shut so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving.

‘What did you do to him?’ Harry whispered.

‘Full Body-Bind. It should hold him until we’re all out-‘

‘Sherlock, apologise to him,’ John said sternly.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Sherlock moaned. John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock scowled.

‘Sorry, Neville,’ he muttered. ‘Now, let’s go.’

Harry threw the Cloak over Sherlock, John and Castiel, and made sure their feet weren’t showing and they safely got out of the portrait hole. They went in silence, not daring to make a sound. On the way they heard Peeves crashing around in a distant classroom but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, they reached the end of the third floor corridor and found themselves staring at the door that they knew Fluffy was behind. Sherlock cast his eyes around and found a large hole in the wall concealed by a tapestry.

‘This looks good,’ he murmured. ‘Come on, John.’

He slipped out from under the Cloak and held the tapestry open for John.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ John whispered to Castiel.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ll be swift.’

With that he was gone and John climbed into the hole, quickly followed by Sherlock. It was as small and cramped as it was dark but they didn’t seem to notice, too worried about what they were about to face to care. With their knees touching, John looked through the darkness towards Sherlock.

‘How do you suppose this hole got here?’ he whispered.

‘I couldn’t hazard a guess,’ Sherlock said sarcastically, thinking of all three of Fluffy’s heads. It can’t have been easy getting him in the room and, though Sherlock was yet to see the dog for himself, it wasn’t hard to imagine. After that neither of them spoke as the gravity of what they were about to do slowly began to hit them. The minutes crawled by as they waited for the others. After a while, they began to think that they had been caught until, at last, they heard footsteps that stopped beside the tapestry.

‘Sherlock, John, you can come out now,’ they heard Hermione say. Castiel pulled back the tapestry and the both of them jumped down. Harry stopped and said, ‘If you want to go back, I won’t blame you, you can take the Cloak.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ron said.

‘We’re coming,’ said Hermione.

‘And, again, we won’t all fit,’ Sherlock pointed out.

Harry nodded and pushed the door open. A low, rumbling growl met their ears and all three of the dog’s noses sniffed madly in their direction, despite his being asleep.

‘What’s that at his feet?’ Hermione whispered.

‘It’s a harp,’ replied Sherlock.

‘Snape must have left it there,’ said Ron. Sherlock eyed it warily.

‘It’s been charmed to play itself- it’ll wear off soon,’ he said, ‘you did bring the flute, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah… Here goes.’

Harry put the flute that Hagrid had given him for Christmas to his lips and blew. It wasn’t really a tune but it seemed to be doing the job as, after the heart-stopping moment in which the harp stopped playing, Fluffy’s eyelids twitched a little, but he stayed asleep.

‘Keep playing,’ Ron warned Harry as they slipped out from under the Cloak, which they left by the door, and crept towards the trapdoor. They could feel the dog’s hot, smelly breath on them as they approached the three giant heads.

‘I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,’ said Ron. ‘Want to go first, Hermione?’

‘No, I don’t!’

‘All right. Sherlock, give me a hand.’

They stepped carefully over the dog’s legs. They both bent down and heaved the door open and peered cautiously through it. It was just black and Sherlock felt his heart flutter in his chest. There was no telling how far it went down.

‘… there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop,’ he heard Ron saying and his stomach lurched dizzyingly. For all they knew, it went down for miles… Suddenly he was gone. Before anyone could stop him, he was bolting across the room and wrenching the door open. John looked apologetically at Harry before racing after him, scooping up the Cloak as he went.

‘What was that about?’ Hermione asked.

‘Who knows?’ Ron shrugged before turning his attention back to the trapdoor.

John found Sherlock just outside the door, sitting against the wall with his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

‘Sherlock?’ John said, approaching him gently. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ he snapped. John grimaced and sat beside him. This wasn’t like Sherlock at all. He was more inquisitive than brave but he would never run away from anything, especially not a hole in the ground… Comprehension dawned across his face.

‘Sherlock… are you afraid of heights?’ John asked him.

‘No!’ he said hotly, then, ‘Maybe a little… _stupid_!’

He stamped his foot on the ground in frustration.

‘It’s not stupid,’ John said kindly, placing a gentle hand on his Sherlock’s arm. ‘A person’s fears don’t define who they are; it’s how they deal with them that counts. Do you want my advice?’

‘No, but you’re going to give it to me anyway,’ Sherlock grumbled.

‘Too right. Heights are pretty scary, but you’re a smart person, right? Well then, think of a way around it. Or even better, face it. Go and ride a broom- only this time, don’t crash. I’m sure Harry will lend you his Nimbus- I bet it’s way more reliable than the old school ones,’ John suggested.

‘You want me to do this now?’ Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well not _right_ now. Come on, let’s go back to the common room,’ said John, getting to his feet.

‘But what about…?’

Sherlock gestured at the door that Fluffy was waiting behind.

‘They’ll understand,’ John smiled, throwing the Cloak over themselves. ‘It’s certainly not helping anyone sitting around out here.’

_Below the trapdoor, Hermione was the last to jump down and land on something soft. Having already lost two of their group, they weren’t in the highest of spirits, but they had already gotten this far._

_‘What is this stuff?’ Ron asked._

_‘Dunno, some sort of plant. I suppose it’s here to break the fall,’ Harry replied._

_‘We must be miles under the school,’ Hermione said wondrously, gazing up at the small square of light above them._

_‘Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,’ said Ron._

_‘_ Lucky _!’ Hermione shrieked, backing against a wall, pulling Castiel with her._

_‘Look at you both!’_

_The plant had managed to wind itself tightly around their legs and ankles undetected. They struggled against it, but the more they fought, the tighter it squeezed._

_‘Stop moving!’ Hermione ordered them. ‘I know what this is- it’s- it’s-‘_

_‘Devil’s Snare!’ she and Castiel gasped._

_‘Oh, that’s great, at least we know what it’s called,’ Ron snarled, clawing at a vine that was trying to curl itself around his neck._

_‘Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!’ Hermione said crossly._

_‘Devil’s Snare likes the dark and damp,’ Castiel said to her._

_‘So we should light a fire? Oh, but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands._

_‘HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Ron bellowed. ‘ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’_

_‘Oh, right!’_

_Both she and Castiel whipped out their wands and, while she muttered something under her breath and sent a jet of bluebell flames at it, Castiel cried, ‘_ Lumos Solem _!’ and rays of light, almost as bright as sunlight, burst from the end of his wand._

_In a matter of seconds Harry and Ron were able to pull themselves free. The plant cringed away from the heat and light and quickly loosened its grip on the two boys._

_‘Lucky you two pay attention in Herbology,’ Harry said, joining them by the wall._

_‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘and lucky the rest of us don’t lose our heads in a crisis- “there’s no wood”,_ honestly _.’_

_‘This way,’ Castiel said, pointing down a stone passageway that was the only way on._

John and Sherlock were climbing down the stairs, Sherlock feeling particularly sorry for himself, when John caught his foot on the corner of the carpet and flew headlong down the rest of the staircase, landing right in front of Mrs Norris at the bottom. John groaned and rolled onto his back. Sherlock tried to get to him as quietly as possible but Mrs Norris acted first, yowling as loud as she could to try and attract Filch’s attention, wherever he might be. Sherlock jumped the last few steps and hauled John to his feet and covered him in the Cloak while checking for any injuries. Mrs Norris continued yowling, if a little confused, but reluctantly gave up and stalked off huffily along the corridor.

‘Are you all right?’ Sherlock whispered. A familiar, unwelcome tingling sensation shot up John’s leg and he grimaced as he tried putting weight on it.

‘No- my leg…’ he murmured back. Sherlock frowned and pulled John’s arm around his shoulders and together they limped away from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you up to Madam Pomfrey,’ Sherlock said.

‘No, don’t, I’m fine. Let’s just go to bed,’ John whispered. ‘But first, let’s just rest here a second.’

John sat down on the floor, stretching his leg out awkwardly and Sherlock sat beside him in silence.

‘How do you think they’re doing?’ John asked, thinking of Harry and the others below the trapdoor.

‘I think they’re doing fine,’ Sherlock replied. ‘They have Harry. He’s a lot smarter than he looks.’

John chuckled weakly. They were just struggling to their feet when they heard voices down the corridor. Sherlock hastily threw the Cloak back over them and they held their breath as two figures appeared around the corner, one with his wand to the other’s throat.

‘What are you going to do, Gabe? You learned all your tricks from me, remember?’ a familiar voice said mockingly.

John gasped.

‘That’s Lucy and Gabriel.’

_‘Where did you learn that?’ Hermione asked Castiel. He shrugged._

_‘I read the right books,’ he replied. They walked carefully along the downward sloping corridor._

_‘Can you hear something?’ Ron whispered. They stopped to listen and heard a soft rustling and clinking coming from up ahead._

_‘Do you think it’s a ghost?’ Ron asked._

_‘It sounds like wings to me,’ Castiel replied. They carried on walking until they saw a light ahead._

_‘I think I can see something,’ Hermione murmured. At the end of the passage they found a brilliantly lit chamber, full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a wooden door._

_‘Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?’ said Ron._

_‘Probably,’ said Harry. ‘They don’t look very vicious, but if they all swooped down at once… I’ll have to run for it.’_

_He took a deep breath, covered his face and sprinted across the room, but the birds made no move towards him. The others followed him and Castiel was gazing around, head tilted towards the ceiling. Harry was pulling at the handle but it was locked and wouldn’t open, even when Hermione tried her Alohomora Charm._

_‘Now what?’ Ron said._

_‘These birds can’t just be here for decoration,’ Hermione said._

_‘They aren’t birds,’ said Castiel. ‘They’re keys.’_

_Looking a little closer, they were, indeed, winged keys._

_‘So that must mean we have to catch the one that fits the door- yes, there’s broomsticks over there!’ Harry exclaimed._

_‘But there are hundreds of them.’_

_Ron examined the lock on the door._

_‘We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one- probably silver like the handle,’ he said._

_They each seized a broom._

_‘It’s probably better that Sherlock isn’t here,’ Ron smirked. ‘He won’t even lift three feet off the ground on a broom.’_

_‘I don’t imagine falling five floors from one gave him any incentive to,’ Hermione frowned._

_‘Yeah but Castiel did too and he’s fine.’_

_Hermione rolled her eyes._

_‘Let’s just get the key,’ Harry said. They kicked off from the ground and flew in every direction, looking for the key but to no avail. It was hard to see anything at all but at last, Harry spotted the one they were looking for through the whirl of rainbow feathers. It had bright blue feathers, one of which was already crumpled and bent as if it had already been caught and stuffed into a keyhole._

_‘That one!’ he called to the others. ‘That big one- there- no, there- with the bright blue wings all bent on one side.’_

_Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashing into the wall and nearly falling off his broom._

_‘We need to trap it!’ Castiel called._

_‘You’re right- Ron, you come at it from above- Hermione, stay below and stop it going down. Castiel, you circle round and I’ll try and catch it. Right, NOW!’_

_Ron dived and Hermione rocketed upwards. Castiel circled, ready to catch it in case Harry missed. The key dodged both Ron and Hermione and sped towards the wall. Harry streaked after it and, with a nasty crunching noise, pinned it against the stone. Ron and Hermione’s cheers echoed around the chamber._

_They landed quickly and Harry ran to the door, they key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned. The moment the lock clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice._

_‘Ready?’ Harry asked the other three. They nodded nervously and he pulled the door open._

Sherlock elbowed John to make him be quiet.

‘Well, come on, little brother, do something,’ Lucy giggled. Gabriel jabbed her with his wand and she held her hands up but then started giggling again.

‘Oh, that’s right! You don’t have the guts.’

Gabriel seemed to be summoning up his courage.

‘Leave Castiel alone. You’ve done enough and I won’t let you hurt him anymore,’ he growled. Lucy’s mocking smile dropped and suddenly she looked nothing more than a concerned sibling.

‘It’s never enough, and besides, it’s what’s best for all of us, you know that,’ she said. Gabriel looked at her as if he’d never met her in his life, and even lowered his wand slightly.

‘You really think that _this_ is what’s best? Have you even _seen_ Castiel lately?’

She shook her head and the pain in John’s leg suddenly became more acute and he bit back a whimper and leaned more heavily on Sherlock.

‘No! You know why? Because he’s been hiding from _you_ ,’ Gabriel burst out angrily. ‘He’s you’re little brother and you were supposed to be taking care of him, Lucy. You were all we had after Michael left and he- he looked up to you and- and you go and do this! How can you do it to him? Why can’t you just stop?’ Gabriel cried desperately. Lucy folded her arms and looked away.

‘I can’t,’ she said bitterly.

‘Damn it, Lucy! Don’t you think he gets enough-‘

John’s leg finally gave way beneath him and he slipped, slapping the stone. Sherlock caught him and lifted him back up, managing to keep the Cloak around them both, but it wasn’t enough. They had heard them and Lucy immediately whipped out her wand, pointed it in their direction and cried, ‘ _Petrificus Totalus_!’

She hit Sherlock square in the face and he fell to the floor with shock written across his face, taking the Cloak with him and leaving John to stare at Lucy in horror as she pointed her wand at him.

_They entered a room so dark they couldn’t see anything at all, but as they entered it, light flooded the room, blinding them for a moment before revealing the largest chess set any of them had ever seen. They were stood behind the black chessmen, facing the white ones and the door on the other side of the room. They were all taller than the four first-years and they had no faces._

_‘What do we do now?’ Harry whispered._

_‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? We have to play our way across the room,’ Ron said._

_‘But how?’ Hermione asked._

_‘I think we have to be chessmen,’ Castiel whispered hoarsely._

_Ron gulped and walked over to the black knight. He placed a hand on it and it immediately sprang to life and turned its great stone head towards them._

_‘Do we- erm- have to join you to get across?’ Ron asked him. He nodded slowly and turned back to face his white counterpart. Ron had gone pale._

_‘Ok… ok, how are we going to do this?’ he said shakily. ‘This is dangerous.’_

_‘More dangerous than the Devil’s Snare?’ Hermione said._

_‘This is different, Hermione. The pieces are clever and can think for themselves beyond what they’re going to eat for tea.’_

_‘Listen, it’ll be fine. You and Castiel are great chess players. If you work together, we can get through this,’ Hermione said encouragingly. Ron looked at Castiel._

_‘What do you think?’ he asked him. Castiel looked around at all the chessmen and rubbed his arm nervously. His face was every bit as pale as Ron’s and looked like he was calculating something while he fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back at Ron._

_‘I think we can do this,’ he said._

_‘Okay,’ said Ron. ‘Where do we start?’_

_‘Well, we all need to play, so Harry and I will be bishops,’ Castiel began._

_‘Yeah- Hermione, you go next to Castiel and take the place of that castle,’ Ron directed. ‘I’ll be a knight.’_

_As if the pieces had heard them, they came to life and the ones they had been talking about walked calmly off the board. They took their places and Ron looked around at them all._

_‘Everyone all right? Everyone ready?’_

_‘We’ll be fine, just tell us what to do,’ said Hermione. Ron nodded._

_‘All right- go.’_

_‘White moves first,’ Castiel murmured and, sure enough, a white pawn moved two places forwards. Ron and Castiel started directing pieces, taking plenty of time to confer with each other. The pieces moved silently wherever they were told. Harry’s knees were trembling. What if they lost?_

_‘Harry- move diagonally four squares to the right,’ Castiel directed him. He was surprised to see Castiel calm and focused on their strategy. Needless to say, he was quite surprised himself, but right now he needed to stay on track and get them all through safely._

_Their first real shock came when they lost their other knight. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board; where he lay quite still, face down._

_‘Had to let that happen,’ Ron said. He looked quite shaken._

_‘It leaves you to take that bishop, Hermione,’ Castiel told her._

_Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a pile of limp, black pieces stacked up against the wall. Twice Ron noticed just in time that one of the others was in trouble. He and Castiel themselves darted around the board, taking as many white pieces as they had lost black ones, shouting instructions and, whenever they were close enough not to be heard by a white piece, discussed tactics with each other in lowered voices._

_‘We’re nearly there,’ Castiel murmured. He and Ron looked around the board._

_‘Let me think- let me think…’ Ron muttered. The white queen turned her blank face towards him._

_‘Yes…’ Ron said softly, ‘it’s the only way; I’ve got to be taken.’_

_‘NO!’ Harry and Hermione shouted. Castiel sucked in a deep breath, but said nothing_

_‘That’s chess!’ Ron snapped. ‘You’ve got to make sacrifices! I make one move and she’ll take me-‘_

_His voice was lost in his throat._

_‘That leaves you to checkmate the king, Harry,’ Castiel continued for him._

_‘But-‘_

_‘Do you want to stop Snape or not?’ Ron said, clearing his throat._

_‘Ron-‘_

_‘Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!’_

_There was nothing else for it. He looked at Castiel, who nodded reassuringly._

_‘Ready?’ Ron called, face pale but determined. ‘Here I go- now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.’_

_He stepped forward and to the right and the white queen pounced, striking Ron on the top of the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor. She dragged him to one side- he looked as if he’d been knocked out._

_Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left._

_‘Checkmate!’_

John put his hands in the air.

‘Have you been listening?’ Lucy hissed.

‘Lucy-‘ Gabriel began.

‘ _Can it!_ Well, have you?’

‘Not- not on purpose,’ John said. Lucy ground her teeth.

‘Don’t you know that it’s rude to eavesdrop? Get up!’ she barked.

‘I- I can’t,’ John whimpered. Lucy opened her mouth to cast a curse but Gabriel grabbed her arm.

‘What are you doing down here, John?’ he asked calmly.

‘We were trying to get into the third floor- we wanted to see what was in there- but then I fell down the stairs and my leg-‘

‘ _Liar!_ You’ve been following me, I know you have!’

She raised her wand again but this time, Gabriel dived in front of her.

‘ _Protego!’_

_‘Crucio!’_

The jet of light lit up her features, making them look twisted and insane before it broke through Gabriel’s thin shield and he fell to the floor, writhing and screaming.  Lucy gasped and ran over to him and John groped around for Sherlock and the Cloak.

‘No! Gabriel, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to!’ she cried. Gabriel stopped screaming and lay panting on the floor. Lucy went to help him up but he slapped away her hands, instead, pushing himself up off the ground. John found what he was looking for, yanked the Cloak over himself and tried to remember how to undo the Full Body-Bind.

‘You were going to cast that on a twelve year-old?’ Gabriel murmured in disbelief.

‘No, I-‘

‘So you were trying to cast it on _me_?’

‘ _No!_ I don’t know what happened- I just-‘

‘Just go, Lucy.’

‘Let me take you to the hospital wing-‘

‘Are you out of your mind? I wouldn’t let you take me anywhere.’

Lucy shook her head and ran off down the corridor. When she was gone Gabriel leaned against the wall and John whipped off the Cloak.

‘Gabriel, are you all right?’

‘I’m all right, what about you?’

John nodded.

‘What did she do to you? That spell…’

Gabriel rubbed his face.

‘It’s called the Cruciatus Curse.’

‘What does it do?’

Gabriel remained silent for a moment.

‘There’s a reason why wizards don’t have torture dungeons,’ he said, voice cracking.

‘Where’s Sherlock? I’ll reverse the spell.’

John pulled the Cloak off him and Gabriel bent down to mutter the counter-curse. Sherlock breathed in and blinked. Sitting up he immediately turned to Gabriel, who was now sitting against the wall.

‘Who’s Michael?’ he asked.

‘Sherlock!’

Gabriel sighed.

‘He’s our older brother. After he finished school, he went back to America. We haven’t heard from him in a while.’

He turned his head away to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. Sherlock sat looking at him awkwardly but John crawled over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away and said, ‘don’t tell Castiel,’ before jumping to his feet and sprinting off the way Lucy had gone.

‘We have to do something about her,’ Sherlock frowned.

‘Right now?’ John grimaced, rubbing his leg.

‘No, no, sorry. Let’s go.’

Sherlock lifted him to his feet and re-wrapped the Cloak around them both.

_The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry’s feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the way to the door clear. They looked over at Ron._

_‘I’m going to stay here and do what I can for him,’ said Castiel, moving towards him._

_‘But we need you to come with us,’ said Hermione._

_‘The best place I can be right now is here with Ron- no, listen, Hermione- we’ve already had Professor Sprout’s obstacle- the Devil’s Snare- Professor Flitwick charmed the keys and the chess set was Professor McGonagall’s. The only thing left will be Snape’s, which I’m sure is some sort of potion and I doubt there will be enough left for all three of us. The only logical thing to do is to stay here wherei can be of most use,’ Castiel reasoned. ‘I will take care of Ron.’_

_‘But what if we need your help?’_

_‘Now is not the time to start doubting yourself, Hermione. You can do this.’_

_Hermione smiled weakly._

_‘All right. Come on, Harry,’ she said._

_‘We’ll see you later,’ Harry said and they disappeared behind the door from which a very nasty smell was issuing._

_As soon as they were gone Castiel released the panic that he’d been holding in, grabbing hold of the nearest broken chess piece to keep himself up. His whole body felt weak and shook so hard that he could barely hold on to the pillar of shattered stone that used to be a castle. His breath came in harsh and ragged gasps, his heart raced and he felt like someone had hold of his intestines and was twisting so much that tears streamed down his face. Minutes that felt like hours passed and his breathing slowed and he began to regain his composure. He wiped the water from his shaking hands and drew his wand, going over to Ron._

_He lifted him up gingerly so that he could see his head. There was a large lump on the top of Ron’s head but the skin was not broken. Castiel screwed up his face in concentration and jabbed the lump with his wand and muttered a spell. It revealed to him that Ron’s skull had not been cracked. He jabbed it again and, though it took him a few tries, the lump shrank in size, but not all the way. Castiel placed him gently back down and waited for him to wake. A few minutes later, Hermione reappeared, looking upset. Castiel rose and went to her, hastily controlling his shaking._

_‘Where’s Harry?’ he asked._

_‘He- he went on alone. There wasn’t enough potion,’ she stammered._

_‘Ok, then, help me get Ron out of here.’_

_Hermione started sniffling._

_‘He’ll be all right, I know he will,’ Castiel reassured her._

_‘How do you know?’_

_‘Because he’s Harry.’_

_Hermione grimaced and they went back to Ron._

_‘I can’t get him to wake, so we’ll have to carry him-‘_

_‘RON, WAKE UP!’_

_Hermione slapped him hard across the face and he opened his eyes and rubbed his face._

_‘What was that for?’ he demanded, sitting up groggily. Hermione shrugged. He rubbed his head._

_‘What happened?’_

_‘You got beaten up by a bit of rock,’ Hermione sniggered. Ron made a face and got unsteadily to his feet._

_‘We need to go and get help,’ Hermione said._

_‘Why? Where’s Harry?’_

_‘He’s gone after Snape himself, we have to find someone.’_

_‘All right, then, we should go,’ said Ron and they headed back the way they’d come._

Sherlock and John had nearly reached the bottom of another staircase, John grumbling all the way (‘why are there so many stairs?’ ‘I don’t know, John.’ ‘Stupid design.’ ‘It’s the only way to get back up to the hospital wing.), when they bumped into Professor Dumbledore, who looked grim.

‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, but hurtled back up to the third floor.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ John frowned.

‘At what point has any of this sounded good to you?’ Sherlock replied irritably.

‘No need to be like that.’

‘John! Sherlock!’ Hermione’s voice sounded from above them. They turned around and saw Ron, Hermione and Castiel coming down the stairs.

‘What happened to you?’ Ron asked. Sherlock looked away, hiding behind his hair.

‘Nothing much. Fell down the stairs. What about you?’ John answered quickly.

‘Well first, we landed on some Devil’s Snare,’ said Ron. Sherlock twitched slightly.

‘Then we had to catch a flying key,’ Ron continued, ‘and then we played chess-‘

‘ _You played chess?’_

‘Yeah but I got knocked out.’

‘Castiel stayed to help Ron and Harry and I went on,’ Hermione picked up. ‘There was a room with an unconscious troll in and then one with some potions. There was a riddle and flames barring the door. There was only enough for one of us to pass, so Harry took it.’

‘Well that’s definitely more exciting than falling down the stairs,’ John joked, trying to lighten the mood, when he didn’t much feel like joking himself. There was no telling what state Harry would come back in- if at all, and Snape had always hated Harry anyway. A silence pervaded the air as they all slipped into thoughts of what Snape might do when Harry reached him.

‘We just ran into Professor Dumbledore. I think he’s gone to get Harry,’ Castiel finally said. ‘Perhaps we should go back and wait for them.’

John groaned and everyone looked at him.

‘Oh, yes, when John fell down the stairs, he hurt his leg,’ Sherlock told them.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Castiel asked.

‘Same thing as before, I think. Something about the nerves.’

‘Oh, well, I can fix that,’ he said. He pointed his wand at the area that John indicated the sensation was coming from and muttered, ‘ _Release.’_

John sighed in relief and they climbed back up the stairs and sat outside the door that led to Fluffy and waited.


	12. The Man With Two Faces

The Man With Two Faces

They had all been sitting outside the door for half an hour now. Ron was snoring softly but everyone else sat alert, too worried to do anything otherwise. Suddenly, the door banged open and Dumbledore appeared, carrying an unconscious Harry in his arms. They heard the faint sound of a harp playing before the door was slammed shut again. Hermione and John jumped up but Dumbledore had already rushed past them, his silver hair whipping behind him. Sherlock shook Ron awake.

'Ron, let's go,' he said.

'Where do you think he's taking him?' John wondered.

'He didn't look in great condition, so I'd say the hospital wing,' Sherlock said, so tired that he didn't even have the energy to point out that it was obvious. They creaked to their feet, yawning, and made their way down to the hall. The windows showed the lightening sky outside, but they didn't stop to admire the rising sun, stumbling along to the hospital and getting there just as Dumbledore was closing the door behind him. He looked grave.

'Sir?' Ron said tentatively.

'Harry is in bad condition. You may visit him in a few hours if you wish,' Dumbledore told them. 'Look at you all, you're dead on your feet. I give the two of you permission to sleep in Gryffindor Tower tonight- it's closer. You've all been very brave, but now you need some rest.'

'Yes, sir,' they mumbled. He smiled and rushed off. All of them, Sherlock in particular, would have objected and demanded to know what was going on with Harry, but as it was they could barely stand up. So they trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower where they found two makeshift beds in the common room for Castiel and Sherlock, which they collapsed into immediately. Ron, John and Hermione hardly made it up to the dormitories.

A few hours passed until it became impossible to ignore the rest of the Gryffindors getting up for breakfast and grudgingly followed them down to breakfast.

'Sherlock, your buttons are done up wrong,' John said as they sat down.

'What?'

'Your buttons,' he said, pointing at Sherlock's shirt. He looked down at them blearily. He grunted indistinctly and put his head in his hands, feeling a migraine coming on. The rest of them weren't much better off either, Ron had already dunked his tie in his bowl of cereal twice, Hermione dozing off on his shoulder and Castiel was sat unnaturally straight, face pale. John was by far the perkiest of them all, having had far more experience with lack of sleep. No one said anything outright yet, but people were already whispering about Harry's absence. The first ones to ask were the Weasley twins. They sidled up either side of Ron and said in hushed voices, 'Is it true you took on McGonagall's giant chess set?'

'How'd you know?' Ron demanded.

'We heard McGonagall talking to Flitwick. Apparently you were really good,' said George.

'I wasn't bad,' Ron blushed.

'So, what happened to Harry?' asked Fred.

'Dunno. We're going to see him later.'

'Let us know, eh.'

They grinned and went back to Lee Jordan to recount what Ron had said. The post arrived in the usual flurry of feathers, accompanied by Castiel's usual flinch. Sherlock looked up and saw, once again, an owl gliding towards them with a letter addressed to Castiel. Suddenly an idea flashed through Sherlock's head. Enough was enough, he thought. He stood up, aimed his wand and said, ' _Finite Incantatem.'_ He reached up and grabbed it, a triumphant smirk on his face. Lucy, Gabriel, Mycroft and the Hufflepuff Head Girl all stood up at once. Sherlock unfolded the letter and scanned the parchment. The hall had fallen silent and the students were all staring at the five people that were standing. Sherlock chuckled.

'Sentiment,' he scoffed, 'is a terrible thing, Lucy,' he announced to the hall. 'You see, if you had just left this letter blank, then no one would have known where it had come from.'

Lucy pursed her lips. Her hand moved to draw her wand, but Mycroft, Gabriel and the Head Girl's wands were already on her.

'But the thing is, you care way too much about your little brother, though you certainly have a twisted way of showing it.'

John shook his head.

'Is now really the time for dramatics?' he hissed.

'Actually, it is.'

Sherlock looked down at Castiel, still sat straight, but making as little movement as possible.

'And so comes the downfall of the Great and Caring Lucy Edlund,' he continued sarcastically. '" _Dearest Castiel, I am sorry about everything- all of this. But you know it's necessary. I hope you know that I'm just trying to protect you and that you can forgive me someday. Love, your sister, Lucy".'_

Lucy looked carefully around, looking for a way out. Mycroft, seeing this, shot a spell at the doors and slammed them firmly shut. Lucy bared her teeth in a snarl and made a flying leap across the tables. Before any of the raised wands could react, Lucy had Castiel in her grip, wand to his temple. Sherlock pointed his own wand at her, as did Ron, Hermione and John, though they knew that there was nothing they could do. Lucy backed away, the wands still pointed at her but unwilling to do anything in case she hurt Castiel. Gabriel wavered but kept his wand high. The rest of the students were scrambling out of the way, not wanting to get hit by any ricocheting spells.

'Open the doors,' she growled, voice low. They made no move. 'Open them,  _now!'_

Mycroft hesitated.

'Anthea, open the doors,' he said quietly- the Head Girl was closest. His eyes never left Lucy, even as the doors opened, calculating every move she might make. Lucy backed slowly out of the doors and as soon as she was out she threw Castiel aside, taking off across the Entrance Hall; followed by Mycroft, Anthea and Gabriel. Lucy aimed over her shoulder and tried to curse Mycroft with the Full-Body Bind, but missed. Percy was suddenly in front of her, blocking her way, completely bewildered by the goings on. Anthea saw an opening and shouted, ' _Incarcerous!'_ But Lucy was too quick for her and cast a powerful Shield Charm around herself, giving herself enough time to shove Percy roughly out of the way. Sherlock rushed to Castiel and tried to help him up, but he was paralysed by the terror caused by the battle in front of him. Lucy saw him and angrily shot a curse at him. He ducked just in time to hear the stone cracking above his head.

'Gabriel!' Mycroft shouted.

'On it!' he yelled back. He stood in front of Sherlock and Castiel and cast a Shield Charm of his own around them. Percy finally realised what was going on and attempted to help but was buffeted out of the way by Mycroft and Anthea, who were now using non-verbal spells in an effort to catch Lucy off guard. Sherlock watched in awe, he had not seen such a display of magic in his life and it was quite a show to see and he had to admit, Lucy was good. She was holding her own against two top students with a year's more experience than her. Eventually, a few of the older Gryffindor students started firing a few of their own spells at her from the doorway, until everyone who could fit was shouting and waving their wands. She knew she was outnumbered by a landslide, but kept fighting on anyway, becoming angrier by the second. Just as they looked set to catch her, she pointed her wand at the ceiling.

' _Bombarda!'_ she shouted. A hole was blasted through the ceiling, raining rubble and dust around them all, choking them. By the time the cloud cleared, Lucy was gone. Mycroft kicked at a fallen stone slab to vent his feelings.

'What the- Holmes, explain!' Professor McGonagall spluttered, rushing down the marble staircase.

'Ah, Professor, not a moment too soon,' Sherlock choked.

'Professor, Lucy Edlund escaped,' Mycroft explained.

'I see,' she sighed. 'Help me fix this-  _Reparo.'_

The fallen bits of stone and debris flew smoothly back into place until nothing left a trace of Lucy's departure. Meanwhile, Sherlock hoisted Castiel to his feet, who stood in total shock, barely breathing.

'Castiel, breathe,' Sherlock reminded him. He slowly let out a long breath but found it difficult to breathe in again.

'She's gone, you're all right.'

He leaned against the wall and drifted off until it was time to go to lessons, Sherlock by his side.

The next two days passed in a tired haze, through lessons and a particularly embarrassing defeat at the hands of Ravenclaw for Gryffindor. Harry remained unconscious while the rest of the school went about their daily business, albeit with the story of a few first-years battling through powerful enchantments. Professor Quirrell also disappeared and many rumours circulated about the reason for it, though everyone seemed to be within a general agreement that it had something to do with Harry. It turned out that it was not Snape that had been aiding Voldemort, which left Sherlock internally kicking himself for not realising it. They made frequent visits to Harry in the hospital wing, along with Fred and George, though they were banned when they tried to sneak him in a toilet seat. Apparently Madam Pomfrey considered it to be unhygienic. It became commonplace to see Gabriel running full pelt down the corridor, whooping loudly, with Castiel on his back, a huge smile spread across his face.

At last, Harry awoke, surrounded by sweets, cards and gifts, but Madam Pomfrey was reluctant to let them visit. She eventually relented, but pulled Castiel aside.

'Make sure they don't overwhelm him,' she said.

'I will,' he smiled.

Harry was lying on the bed, looking quite grumpy, but a grin lit up his face when he saw them.

' _Harry!'_ Hermione exclaimed. 'Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to- Dumbledore was so worried.'

'The whole school's talking about it,' said Ron. 'What  _really_ happened?'

'Well, John was right, it wasn't Snape, it was Quirrell. He had Voldemort stuck on the back of his head the entire time- a bit like a parasite.'

'Bet that's why his turban smelled funny,' Ron frowned. Suddenly, John burst into a fit of laughter.

'What could possibly be funny?' Sherlock asked, nonplussed.

'You remember at Christmas,' he said to Ron, choking down tears of laughter, 'when Fred and George bewitched those snowballs?'

'Yeah, they bounced them off his turban-'

Ron's jaw dropped open and Hermione gasped. Soon they were all giggling madly.

'Ok, Harry, get on with the story.'

Harry told them everything. Quirrell, the Mirror, the Stone and Voldemort. Half way through his narrative, Castiel placed a hand against his forehead.

'You have a high temperature.'

'Yeah, I know. Madam Pomfrey gave me this stuff. Anyway, Dumbledore said that they've destroyed the Stone, so no can use it badly.'

'So it's just gone?' Ron said. 'Flamel's just going to  _die?'_

'That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that- what was it?- "to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure".'

'I always said he was off his rocker,' said Ron, looking quite impressed at how mad his hero was.

'So, what happened to you lot?'

'We got back all right,' said Hermione. 'Castiel and I brought Ron round and we were just off to get some help when Dumbledore rushed past us.'

'Then we waited outside for you for ages,' John added. 'Oh, by the way, Lucy's gone.'

'Is she? What happened?'

'It was genius, Sherlock stopped the curse on one of her letters so it didn't explode and then pretty much the whole school chased her off- absolutely brilliant, it was.'

'Listen, Harry, you have to come to the feast tomorrow,' said Ron. The points are all in and Slytherin won. You missed the last Quidditch match and we lost to Ravenclaw-'

'We  _steamrollered_ you.'

'Yes, I remember, Sherlock, I was  _there_. Anyway, we lost without you, but the food'll be good.'

'We should probably go, we've had nearly fifteen minutes now,' Castiel interrupted. As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey bustled over and ushered them out.

Once again, Sherlock and Castiel were forced to sit at the Ravenclaw table for the feast and waited for the room to fill. They watched the hall slowly turn itself green and silver in celebration of Slytherin winning the House Cup. Sherlock yawned widely, looking round just in time to see Harry slip into a seat between Ron and Hermione, snorting as waves of people craned their necks to look at him.

Dumbledore arrived a few moments later and the babble died away as he took his seat.

'Another year gone,' he said cheerfully. 'I ask you listen to an old man's waffling once more before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year! Hopefully our heads are a little fuller than they were and we have a whole summer to empty them before the start of the new term.

'Now, as we all know, the House cup needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points, in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw at second have four hundred and twenty-five and, finally, taking the Cup, Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two.'

Cheering and clapping broke out at the Slytherin table.

'Yes, yes, well done Slytherin,' said Dumbledore. 'However, recent events must be taken into account.'

The Slytherins abruptly fell silent.

'Ahem, yes, I have a few last minute points to award. Let's see, yes…

'First- to Mr Ronald Weasley and Mr Castiel Edlund…'

Castiel choked on his pumpkin juice and Sherlock could see how red the tops of Ron's ears had turned.

'…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor and Ravenclaw house fifty points each.'

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the enchanted ceiling and Percy could be heard yelling at people about how Ron was his little brother, but it was nothing compared to the Ravenclaw shouts and screams, their having overtaken Slytherin and were now in first place.

At last there was silence again.

'Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for the cool use of logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.'

The Gryffindors were cheering again, accompanied by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, all glad that Slytherin had been beaten at last.

'Third, to Mr Harry Potter,' said Dumbledore, 'for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.'

The roar was deafening. Those who had bothered to keep count were now yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points- exactly the same as Slytherin. The Ravenclaws were all beaming at their four hundred and seventy-five points. Dumbledore raised a hand and the room gradually fell silent again.

'There are all kinds of courage,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.'

It sounded like an explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. Gabriel jumped the Hufflepuff table and playfully tackled Castiel before lifting him up onto his shoulders, beaming with pride.

'Which means,' Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, 'we need a little change of decoration.'

He clapped his hands and in an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Sherlock laughed out loud at Snape, who was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand with a horrible forced grin. Gabriel refused to move from the Ravenclaw table, much to Mycroft's displeasure, but no one else seemed to mind, they were too busy celebrating Slytherin being beaten out by both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

In all the excitement, they had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. John was surprised to see that he had passed with good marks. Hermione, of course, came top of the year, only rivalled by Sherlock and Castiel, who had flown through everything, yet barely scraping a pass in Potions.

Suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets and they each received a note warning them not to use magic over the holidays. They boarded the Hogwarts Express, talking and laughing as the countryside flew by. Pulling off their wizard robes, they arrived at platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform, leaving in twos and threes so as not to attract attention from the Muggles. Gabriel met Castiel and helped him with his trunk, while Sherloc did his best to avoid Mycroft. The both of them seemed rather subdued.

'Come on, kid, Dad's waiting outside in the car,' Gabriel smiled. 'I'll get you an owl over the summer so you can keep in contact with your friends.'

'Really? Thank you, Gabriel.'

Gabriel lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder, where he squirmed and chuckled.

' _Gabriel!'_

Gabriel just laughed.

'Wave goodbye,' he grinned, dragging both of their trunks behind him. Castiel waved gleefully before they disappeared from the station.

John passed his phone number to Harry and Hermione, confident that they would be the only one to know what to do with it, just as Mycroft was dragging Sherlock past.

' _Mycroft,_ let  _go!'_

'Come  _on,_ Sherlock, Mummy's  _waiting!'_

Sherlock yanked his arm free and tripped over his trunk. John laughed loudly and helped Sherlock to his feet.

'I'll see you in September, then,' John said.

'No, I should think you'll see me much sooner than that,' Sherlock smirked back.

Once everyone was finally done saying goodbye, the station emptied of Hogwarts students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add a sneak peek of Chamber of Secrets onto this work so you all know when I've posted it.


	13. Chamber of Secrets sneak peek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chamber of Secrets is up and ready. Happy Holidays!

Just then a handsome tawny flew in, followed by a black barn owl, one landing in front of Mrs Weasley and the other in front of Ron. Ron groaned as he saw the tawny.

‘Isn’t that Mycroft’s owl?’ Percy asked. Mrs Weasley opened it and read it to them.

_Dear Weasley family,_

_We are hosting a small dinner party this afternoon at four o’ clock and we would be delighted if you could make it. Unfortunately we are a few guests short, so please feel free to invite whomever you would like. I would very much like for our children to get to know one another a little better._

_Cordially yours, Mrs A. Holmes_

‘But it’s not even Saturday,’ Ron moaned.

‘Behave, Ron, I think it’s a brilliant idea- and we can bring Harry,’ Mrs Weasley beamed.

 


	14. Prisoner of Azkaban Preview

Mr Weasley put down his paper and emblazoned on the front was a picture of a man with wild, matted hair and sunken, sallow skin.

‘Who is that man?’ Castiel asked.

‘Sirius Black,’ Mr Weasley said grimly.

‘ _The_ Sirius Black?’ Castiel said, eyes wide. He leaned closer to the paper. ‘He’s escaped?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Weasley, looking extremely grave. ‘They’ve pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him. No sign of him so far.’

‘Would we get a reward if we caught him?’ asked Ron. ‘It’d be good to get some more money…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,’ Mr Weasley said, looking very strained. ‘Black’s not going to be caught by a thirteen year-old wizard. It’s the Azkaban guards that’ll get him back, you mark my words.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prisoner of Azkaban is now up and available to read.


	15. Goblet of Fire Preview

Goblet of Fire Preview

John watched as Sherlock moved among the bookshelves, fingers lightly brushing the spines as he went, occasionally taking one and putting it in a pile next to John. At first, John thought he was pulling them out at random, but once he looked at some of them, he realised that they were all either one of a kind, or first editions.

‘Our family are renowned for collecting knowledge,’ Sherlock explained. ‘A pastime I quite enjoy, though rarely get the time for.’

‘And you can tell what kind of book you’re looking for just by touching them?’

‘Usually the texture of the cover, the inlay used for the title and the amount of gathered dust tells me all I need to know.’

‘Really? Wow, that’s amazing.’

Sherlock gave a small smile. ‘You think so?’

‘Definitely. Let’s keep looking.’

They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search.

He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration.

John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.

Sherlock looked up at him. ‘What are you staring at?’ he frowned.

‘Hmm?’

‘I said, what are you staring at?’


End file.
